"She is one of the cunning ones," the maid mutters to herself, then aloud, soothingly, she answers: "They are beautiful eyes, my lady, so bright and black! No wonder my master adores you, so lovely as you are."
"I tell you I am not mad," Vera cries impatiently, vexed at the woman's stolid persistence in her belief. "I am as sane as you are, and your master is a villain. He has abducted me from my friends and my home, but they will trace me out and punish him for his villany, be sure of that."
"Come, my dear, do not excite yourself. It will all come well. Sit down in this arm-chair, and make yourself comfortable, while I go and fetch your lunch and a cup of tea. I dare say you have had no dinner, traveling so far."
She wheels forward a large, crimson-cushioned easy-chair, but Lady Vera rejects it with a gesture of scorn.
"Where is the man you call your master?" she inquires, haughtily. "Is he in the house?"
"Yes, my lady. Should you be pleased to see him?" inquires her keeper, deferentially.
"Yes; tell him to come. I wish to know the meaning of this dastardly outrage," the countess answers, indignantly.
The woman withdraws with a bow. The click of a key in the lock informs Lady Vera that she is a prisoner. She paces up and down the floor, a storm of indignation raging in her breast, mixed with a wild hope that her friends will soon deliver her from the trap into which she had walked so unsuspectingly.
Suddenly the key clicks in the lock, and Leslie Noble walks boldly into the room.