The very signature “Lol,” combined with the fact of the portrait in the ring, confirmed my suspicion that there was affection between them.
I paced the room still utterly mystified.
At four o’clock I heard the horn of the motor in the avenue, and rushed forth to meet my love. She descended in dust-cloak and veil, and took my hand in silent greeting, but Keene, who was also at the door, whispered to her, and she walked away with him. I knew that he was telling her of all that had happened to me—and of the real reason of Marigold’s absence.
She went to her room, and though I waited for an hour or more, she did not descend.
I sent a message up to Weston, and the reply was—
“Her ladyship has a very bad headache after the dust.”
This I told Keene, who shrugged his shoulders.
At tea in the hall, where the guests were nearly all assembled—as gay and well-dressed a crowd as could be found in all England—the Countess approached me quite calmly, and said in a loud voice—
“George has just said that you’ve hurt your head, Mr Woodhouse. I’m so very sorry. How did you manage it?”
The woman’s imperturbable daring was simply marvellous. Her question took me utterly aback.