“Hugh Colman.”
“The man who——?” said Mrs. Delamere with tactful aposiopesis.
Minna recovered, flushed, bit her lip angrily. She had almost betrayed herself.
“It gave a shock to see him,” she explained, forcing a smile. “The last time was in such painful circumstances—the trial—my poor father.”
Mrs. Delamere nodded sympathy, and looked with curious interest at Hugh’s handsome face and haughty bearing.
“And there is the heroine of his romance with him, Mrs. Merriam. I know her by sight.”
“They were married a month ago,” said Minna, steadying her voice.
“They were both friends of yours, I believe.”
“He was,” said Minna.
At that moment, she saw his eyes, which had been idly wandering round the house, fix themselves with awful suddenness upon hers. Instinct warned her of the danger of putting Mrs. Delamere on the scent of a mystery. She made Hugh an unmistakably cordial bow, to which he responded with grave courtesy. Then he sat down beside Irene. The conjuncture of the parties in so celebrated a trial did not pass unnoticed. A whispering here, followed by a glance, an opera-glass levelled there, indicated to Minna the fact of their recognition. Exaggerating the danger, she summoned the box-attendant and, borrowing a pencil, scribbled in German upon a bit of her programme: “Come and speak to me, to save appearances.” The note despatched, she awaited events.