He indicated me, standing as I did back against the window. Mrs. Chandos looked at me, her bright colour varying. The same thought evidently crossed her that I had thought might cross them—my unfitness in point of rank. She spoke to him proudly and coldly.
"Your wife will be Lady Chandos now, you must remember."
"I do not forget it, Ethel."
She sighed imperceptibly, and turned to the door. He went to open it for her.
"Emily and mamma have gone to the west wing. I should not like to go there: I never saw anybody dead. I was almost afraid to come down the stairs, and now I am afraid to go up them."
"Do you wish to go up?" asked Sir Harry.
"Yes. I wish to be in my own rooms."
He held out his arm to her, and she took it. I stayed alone, wishing the explanation had been made before he went away. But ere the lapse of a minute Mrs. Chandos was in the east wing, and he back in the room with me.
"Would you please let me speak to you a moment," I said—for he had only returned to take up a small parcel left on the table: and he came up to me, putting it down again.
But I could not speak. No, I could not. Now that the moment was come, every word went out of my mind, power of utterance from my mouth. He stood looking at me—at my evident agitation and whitening lips.