'Because of your father. Roger is in the bounds of his magistracy, is he not?'
The drops of wine had eased a little the grip of the shock upon the girl. Simone rose, and held the glass again, but Marion shook her head.
'In a few minutes you will be able to think,' said Simone quietly. 'Then you will know I am right.'
Silence fell on the room as Simone stood beside the chair, watching the set look slowly disappear from the face, the eyes lose their hard stare.
When Marion spoke again her voice was trembling, but the tones were her own.
'Sit down, Simone, and let us think. You see what Charity says.'
'Charity has written in a panic,' said Simone softly. 'But I like her greatly, that simple, loving soul. What are the facts, now? Master Roger has heard that some one—his friend?—' Marion nodded, 'was in danger of arrest, and he has warned him. I do not know just what an offence in the law that may mean. Sir John will say when he returns. And Master Roger——'
Marion flamed up in sudden anger, a bright colour flooding her face. 'Such folly!' she cried. 'Roger was ever a fool! I can't think why folk do not mind their own affairs. He must have known 'twas dangerous. Think of his mother! Arrant wickedness, I call it.'
Simone smiled faintly as the storm swept her by. Any outburst was more welcome than silence and stillness.
'Ma belle dame,' she said, her eyes warm, 'you had wrought just such a service yourself, had you been there.'