“One,” answered Delia. “My brother and his friend, merely, madam. He in the red coat is my brother.”
The other smiled.
“I hav’na’ seen before sic a fair face on a man as your friend carries,” she said. “Who are ye, mistress? I am Margaret Campbell o’ Breadalbane.”
Delia caught her breath; the position had become suddenly a perilous one, she reflected swiftly that her name was unknown, and gave it as frankly as she was able.
“Ah,” said the Countess, “and your lovely friend?”
Delia collected herself with an effort.
“Your ladyship must ask him yourself,” she answered. “I cannot rob him of that honor.”
The Countess lifted her brows and accepted the rebuff.
“We no’ intended to stay here,” she remarked with an easy change of subject. “But the storm coming on and my lord havin’ a weak chest that I should na wish him to catch cold on—we stopped at the first inn we came to.”
So Breadalbane was with her! Delia’s heart sank; she wished she could warn Jerome and her brother, but she was too confused to invent a decent excuse for leaving the room, and as she stood trying to collect herself to some definite plan of action the Countess crossed over to the fire and took off her hat.