"I will not tell her, sir. I suppose Lady Chandos dislikes dogs as much as I do."
"She does not dislike dogs: she rather likes them. But she objects—at least, she has objected latterly—to have dogs loose about the premises."
"She fears their going mad, perhaps?"
Mr. Chandos laughed. "No, she does not fear that. I must make you and Nero friends, Miss Hereford; you will then find how little he is to be dreaded. You shall come to the stables with me when he is tied up fast. How long have you known my sister?" he resumed, changing the subject.
"I knew her a little at Mademoiselle Barlieu's. I entered the school just before she left it."
"Then you must have known—have known—the circumstances under which she quitted it?"
He had begun the sentence rapidly, as if impelled to it by impulse, but after the hesitation, continued it more slowly.
"Yes, sir. They could not be kept from the school."
"A mad act—a mad act!" he murmured: "and—if I may read signs—heartily repented of. It is, I fancy, an exemplification of the old saying, Miss Hereford, 'Marry in haste, and repent at leisure.' Poor Emily has leisure enough for it before her: she is only beginning life. I went over at the time to Mademoiselle Barlieu's."
"Yes, sir; I saw you when you were going away, and I hid myself in a niche of the hall while you passed. I knew you again as soon as I met you here."