"Yaas, suh, bout two hours."
"Then he told her!" Sargent exclaimed.
"Mos' eberything, I reckon. But cum on ober dar, fer I wants ter git ter bed 'fo daybreak, sho'."
Sargent followed Dicey across the yard, into the dimly lit hall, where the wall of portraits swam before him like the faces of the multitude he had faced that day. Knocking at the parlour door, Dicey announced him, and then disappeared into the shadows of the hall.
Mrs. Brandon was standing beneath the massive bronze chandelier, her face paler than Sargent had ever seen it, her whole expression and poise bereft of the cold assurance which had seemed the outward expression of the woman's character.
Sargent closed the door after him, and stood facing her, both of them silent a few moments.
"Is it true?" Mrs. Brandon finally demanded, her words coming colder and crisper than ever before.
"You mean—that Mr. Jervais has challenged me, Mistress Brandon? If so—he has and I have accepted. It is to be in a very few hours."
Her eyes blazed at Sargent, full of a violent hatred that led him to read for a certainty the love she bore Jervais. Even in that moment of his gloom and her anger, the incongruity of the love of this woman for Jervais struck a distracting note in his thoughts.
"Are you determined to meet him, Mr. Everett?"