“Go.”
There was a threat in Gaunt’s voice, and the Baron perceptibly hastened his step, and his nether lip trembled slightly. The footman threw open the door, and he hastened to cross the hall, but when he reached the pavement he stood there for a few moments. Then he strode slowly towards Piccadilly but had not gone very far before he heard his name called from behind.
He turned quickly and uncovered his head.
“Madam,” he said, and bowed politely to the beautiful girl who had joined him.
“I am Lady Ethel Blythe.”
“Ah! I knew your sister, but in those days I think you must have been at school,” he said pleasantly, and there was unconcealed admiration in his eyes.
“Will you not come into the park? I wish to speak to you,” Lady Ethel remarked, nervously.
She had acted on the impulse of the moment, and was already beginning to regret the step that she had taken, but the Baron was only too glad of the chance of gaining information, and so promptly led the way across the road, keeping up a steady flow of conversation until they reached a row of chairs.
“Won’t you sit down, Lady Ethel? I do not think it is too cold, for your furs will keep you warm,” he said suavely, and again she encountered the look of admiration in his eyes.
“Why have you quarrelled with Mr. Gaunt?” she demanded suddenly.