"If I am any judge," said he, with a smile, "that young lady is in the best of health and spirits."
Madame was indignant. "You are mistaken. She is—" but this would never do; she was just going to let out that Marjolaine was heart-broken because of Jack Sayle's desertion: the very last thing Lord Otford must know. "Yes, of course," she corrected herself. "She is well and happy, but—"
"Then," said Lord Otford, "will you favour me with a few moments?"
She could not help noticing with some satisfaction how different his manner was from when they had last met. Then he had tried to bluster and bully; now he was all deference. But she would not yield a jot. She drew herself up proudly.
"I can see no use in renewing our painful—"
He interrupted her deprecatingly. "I am in a grave perplexity. My son has disappeared—"
Madame took him up quickly. "And you suspect us of harbouring him!" she cried, with genuine anger.
"No, no!" he protested. "On my honour, no!"
"Then—?"
"Ah, do be patient," he continued, almost humbly. "I am here on an errand of conciliation."