He fingered his letter, still with his face from her; she came round his chair, her scarlet dress rippled out of the shadows with colour.
"Of course they cannot forgive," she said intensely.
Now he looked round at her suddenly, and his expression startled even her strained anticipation.
"What are they doing?" he demanded.
"My lady is weeping—and Marius—raving like the boy he is."
The Earl leant back.
"They blame me, Susannah—curse me, I think, make me the thief of their happiness, and—" he checked himself. "I am to blame, but I will repay."
"How?" she asked, and her voice was almost frightened.
Again he gave her his stormy grey eyes.
"Marius is in love," he smiled, not softly. "Principally my lady thinks of that—spendthrift, you, she says, ruining this romance—well, Marius must not be a pauper either for this love or the next, and so——"