“Yes—the people I have been staying with,” she explained. “Do you know them, by any chance?”
“I really can't say,” he replied carelessly. “Durward is not a very uncommon name, is it?”
“Their name was originally Lovell—they only acquired the Durward with some property. Mrs. Durward is an extraordinarily beautiful woman. I believe in her younger days she had half London in love with her.”
Sara hardly knew why she felt impelled to supply so many particulars concerning the Durwards. After that first brief exclamation, Trent seemed to have lost interest, and appeared to be rather bored by the recital than otherwise. He made no comment when she had finished.
“Then you don't know them?” she asked at last.
“I?” He started slightly, as though recalled to the present by her question. “No. I haven't the pleasure to be numbered amongst Mrs. Durward's friends,” he said quietly. “I have seen her, however.”
“She is very beautiful, don't you think?” persisted Sara.
“Very,” he replied indifferently. And then, quite deliberately, he directed the conversation into another channel, leaving Sara feeling exactly as though a door had been slammed in her face.
It was his old method of putting an end to a discussion that failed to please him—this arrogantly abrupt transition to another subject—and, though it served its immediate purpose, it was a method that had its weaknesses. If you deliberately hide behind a hedge, any one who catches you in the act naturally wonders why you are doing it.
Even Miles looked a trifle astonished at Trent's curt dismissal of the Durward topic, and Sara, who had observed the strange expression that leaped into his eyes—half-guarded, half inimical—felt convinced that he knew more about the Durwards than he had chosen to acknowledge.