"One moment, dear," he said, quietly. "Do you know anybody who has a scarlet cloak, satin, I think?"
"Scarlet satin coat?" echoed Ailsa. "Why, what can that have to do with it? As it happens, I do know, for I possess one myself and very fond of it I am, too. But why do you ask?"
"Oh, just a fancy of mine, that's all," replied Cleek with apparent irrelevance. "I thought perhaps Lady Brenton had one, but if she hasn't—unless she might have borrowed yours, you'd lend it to her I know. Did you?"
"No, that I certainly did not. For one thing, why should Lady Brenton wish to wear my things? Anyhow, I know she did not borrow mine with my knowledge."
"Hmn, I see. You couldn't have left it lying around anywhere?"
Ailsa laughed gaily.
"How like a man! As if I should leave satin opera coats lying round. They're much too precious! But of course it is in one of the cupboards at The Towers. I left it there once, and it has been there ever since."
She was gazing down the lane which wound its way round the fields and distant houses and now gave a little cry of dismay.
"Oh, here is that dreadful girl again and her brother! I can't help it, dear," she added, impulsively, "but Miss Wynne and I do not get on well. I know her better than I care about."
Cleek looked critically at the pair who were advancing round the bend of the lane, and his thoughts readjusted themselves.