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Saton seemed only modestly surprised at the interest which everyone displayed. "We are only doing something now," he said, "which has already been done, and proved easy. The only trouble is, of course, that Lady Marrabel being a stranger to me, the effort is a little greater.
"If two of you," he said, helping himself to a cigarette, and deliberately lighting it, "will take Lady Marrabel over say to that oak chair underneath the banisters blindfold her, and then leave her. Really I ought to apologize for what I am going to do. Everything is so very obvious. Still, if it amuses you!" Pauline sat by herself.
"I read this morning that the most beautiful woman at the Opera last night was Lady Marrabel." "The Daily Telegraph man is such a delightful creature," she answered. "I do not like reporters, but I fancy that I must once have been civil to this one by mistake. Henry, you have had the road shortened. I am perfectly certain of it. We cannot be there." "I am afraid it is the sad truth," he answered.
"You looked at Pauline, too. You don't hate her, do you?" He drew a little breath between his clenched teeth. If only this child would hold her peace! "No!" he said. "I do not hate Lady Marrabel." "Is it because he has interfered between us," she asked timidly, "that you dislike Mr. Rochester so much? Remember that very soon I shall be of age."
"I am sure," he said to her she was one of his oldest friends "that you will be glad to meet the gentleman whose brilliant paper has interested us all so much. This is Lady Marrabel, Saton, whose father was professor at Oxford before your day." The great man passed on. Pauline's first impulse had been to hold out her hand, but she had immediately withdrawn it.
His face darkened as he recognised Saton leaning back inside, and he ignored the other's somewhat exaggerated and half ironical greeting. "Lady Marrabel is 'at home'?" he asked the butler, who knew him well. The man hesitated. "She will see you, no doubt, sir," he remarked. "We had our orders that she was not 'at home' this afternoon." "The gentleman who has just left " Rochester began. "Mr.
"Your tongue goes glibly to-night," he remarked. "Talk to the shadows, my friend. Lady Marrabel and I are going." "I did not bid you come," Saton answered. "This is my spot, and my hour. It was you who intruded." "The fact that this is my property " Rochester began, gently. "Is of no consequence," Saton answered.
She glanced once more over her shoulder toward the village perhaps beyond. "If you like," she answered, resignedly. The words which passed between Pauline Marrabel and her host at the railway station were words which the whole world might have heard and remained unedified. The first part of their drive homeward, even, passed in complete silence.
But apart from that, Lady Marrabel, I am afraid that you are not prepared to do me justice. You look at me through Rochester's eyes, and I am quite sure that all his days Rochester will believe that I am more or less of a charlatan." "Your paper was very wonderful, Mr. Saton," she said slowly. "I am convinced that Mr. Rochester would have admitted that himself if he had been here."
He descended a few immaculate steps and turned westward, frowning thoughtfully. The matter with him! He knew well enough. He had taken his fate into his hands, played his cards boldly enough, but Fate was beginning to get her own back. He turned not toward Kensington Gardens, but towards Cadogan Street. He rang the bell at one of the most pretentious houses, and asked for Lady Marrabel.
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