My lord's lids drooped. He had seen Sir Francis through the lattice of the summer-house. His hitherto meaningless humour lacked now no motive to spur it. He stepped quickly to Miss Boyle's side.
"I have seen Susannah," he said.
She moved out of the lamplight.
"Then you know that—we—cannot speak together," she said under her breath and faintly.
"Why?" asked my lord on a quick note of recklessness.
"Ah, you know!" she faltered. "And we shall be seen."
She walked on, but towards the water, not the supper-table. He came behind her, treading lightly. Her long gauzy scarf floated about her like a mist. The silver borders of it gleamed across her bosom and over her powdered curls.
"That malice in the paper has frightened you," said my lord. "I think there is no need to notice it."
She paused in her slow walk and stood, an elusive shape in white, against the dark laurels.
"This is an extraordinary thing for you to say," she breathed.