“Dear Lady Rundel”—he bent forward and patted her hand soothingly—“it annoyed me so deeply (you know how acutely sensitive I am) to hear people laughing!”
“Laughing?”
Lady Rundel met his eyes interrogatively.
“I felt that the position was so very undignified. Sir Roger——”
“Captain O’Hagan—are you insinuating that people are laughing at my husband That——”
“At your husband! At Sir Roger!” O’Hagan stared amazedly through the pebble. “No one would dare to laugh at Sir Roger Rundel, believe me!”
A far-away look came into Lady Rundel’s eyes at these words. O’Hagan was glad to see that look; glad for Sir Roger’s sake. He knew, then, that his curious duty was almost accomplished—that Captain Haverley was merely a passing amusement.
Lady Rundel rose slowly from her chair. O’Hagan observed her slim figure with smiling, aesthetic appreciation. She walked across to a small table, glancing at some trifle which it bore—and turned, leaning back upon the table-edge.
“What do you mean, then?” she asked. “At whom are they laughing?”
O’Hagan shrugged his shoulders with feigned embarrassment.