"We can stay here alone for some time," said Lord Chetwynde, after a long silence. He spoke in a whisper, which, however, was perfectly audible to Hilda.
"Yes," said the other, speaking in the same whisper. "He is amusing himself in the Grand Avenue."
"And we have an hour, at least, to ourselves. We are to meet him at the Grand Fountain; He will wait for us."
There was another silence.
Hilda heard this with strange feelings. Who was this _he_ of whom they spoke? Was he the husband of this woman? Of course. There was no other explanation. They could not be so cautious and so regardful about any other. Nor, indeed, did the thought of any other come into her mind in that hour of excitement. She thought that she could understand it all. Could she but find out this woman's name, then it would be possible to take vengeance in a better and less dangerous way than by using the dagger. She could find out this injured husband, and use him as an instrument for vengeance. And, as this thought came to her, she sheathed her dagger.
The conversation began again. As before, it was in a whisper.
"We are secluded here. No one can see us. It is as quiet as our kiosk at the villa."
"Heavens!" thought Hilda. "A trysting-place!"
A sigh escaped the other.
"You are sighing," said Lord Chetwynde. "Are you unhappy?"