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He strolled out, hatless, and with no covering over his thin black dinner-coat. He crossed the meadow, and climbed the little range of broken, rocky hills, from which one could see down even into the flower-gardens of Beauleys. He could see there no sign of disturbance, save that there were two motor-cars before the door.
Rachael nodded. "And your friend at Beauleys?" she asked, with a little sneer. "What if he had seen you, eh? You are very brave, Bertrand, for he is a big man, and you are small. I do not think that he loves you, eh? But what about the girl?" A servant entered the room, and Saton with relief abandoned the conversation. She returned to it, however, the moment they were alone.
"Henry, I wish I'd never been. I wish to Heaven you'd never asked Bertrand Saton to Beauleys." Rochester's face grew darker. "I wish I'd wrung the fellow's neck the first day I saw him," he declared, bitterly. "But after all, Pauline, you don't take this sort of person seriously?" "I wish I didn't," she answered. "He's an infernal charlatan," Rochester declared.
And as sure as you and I are met here together this evening, Saton, I tell you that if you offend again in this matter, I shall punish you. You understand?" Rochester swung his horse round and cantered down the lane. Saton stood looking after him with white, angry face and clenched hands. The Duchess welcomed the little party from Beauleys in person, and with more than ordinary warmth.
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