Mrs. Weston shrugged her shoulders, and looked at her brother.
"Imbécile!" she muttered.
She was accustomed to talk to her brother very freely in rather school–girl French before her husband, to whom that language was as the most recondite of tongues, and who heartily admired her for superior knowledge.
He sat staring at her now, and eating bread–and–butter with a simple relish, which in itself was enough to mark him out as a man to be trampled upon.
* * * * *
On the fourth day after his interview with Hester, Edward Arundel was strong enough to leave his chamber at the Black Bull.
"I shall go to London by to–night's mail, Morrison," he said to his servant; "but before I leave Lincolnshire, I must pay another visit to Marchmont Towers. You can stop here, and pack my portmanteau while I go."
A rumbling old fly––looked upon as a splendid equipage by the inhabitants of Kemberling––was furnished for Captain Arundel's accommodation by the proprietor of the Black Bull; and once more the soldier approached that ill–omened dwelling–place which had been the home of his wife.
He was ushered without any delay to the study in which Olivia spent the greater part of her time.
The dusky afternoon was already closing in. A low fire burned in the old–fashioned grate, and one lighted wax–candle stood upon an open davenport, before which the widow sat amid a confusion of torn papers, cast upon the ground about her.