‘I’ve left your sketch-book behind in the wagonette.’
‘Is that all?’
‘It will not take me more than ten minutes to fetch it.’
‘It is of no consequence—not the slightest,’ answered Madame De Vigne a little wearily.
‘I prefer to fetch it. Some one will be prying into it who has no business to. Besides, I recollect something that I want to say to Miss Penelope.’
‘As you please, dear.’
‘You don’t mind my leaving you?’
‘Not in the least.’
‘I shall not be long away,’ cried Clarice as she turned and took the road that led down the valley.
The shadow on Mora De Vigne’s face deepened the moment she was left alone. She was very pale this morning, and she had that look about the eyes which tells of a sleepless night. Beyond her sister and Nanette, no one knew of her fainting-fit of the previous night. Miss Gaisford had not failed to notice the change in her looks, but had asked no questions: she was assured that when the proper time should arrive she would be told all that it was intended she should know.