Part 30 (2/2)

”Yes,” said Lady Adela. ”What do you think it was, Maddy?”

”Something awful, you may depend upon it,” said the Princess; ”and I am sure little Marchmont knows. We tried to make him tell us on the way back, but he wouldn't. But I gathered somehow that Lord Stamfordham couldn't have done anything else.”

Lord Stamfordham! Did they say Stamfordham? Rachel thought to herself wonderingly. Was he here? And she had some kind of queer, puzzled feeling that he was connected in her mind with something that had happened lately. What was it?

”And Pateley doesn't know anything about it either,” said the Princess.

”I met him just now and asked him.”

”Did you?” said Lady Chaloner. ”I don't think you ought to have done that. I was going to tell you that Stamfordham said it was not to be mentioned.”

”Did he?” said the Princess, somewhat taken aback. ”I asked Mr. Pateley because I thought he would be sure to know. But I made him promise not to tell anybody.”

”I believe he did know, though,” said Moricourt, who, though he spoke his own language, understood perfectly everything that was said in English. ”I wonder what the quiet and charming wife that Wentworth admires so much thinks?”

”Poor thing!” said Lady Chaloner gravely.

”By the way,” said Lady Adela with a sudden idea, ”Wentworth was with him. Wentworth must know all about it, of course. He is sure to come to the bazaar. We'll ask him.”

”Wentworth was with him?” said Rachel to herself with an involuntary movement, rising from her seat. Of whom were they speaking? What was it all about? She was unconscious that she was standing scrutinising the faces of the group near her as though trying to gather from them what their words might mean. They, deep in their conversation, did not notice her. Then, with a feeling of extraordinary relief--she hardly knew why--she saw a familiar, substantial person coming along the promenade with a sort of friendly swagger. She went forward to meet him, still feeling as though she were walking in her sleep.

”Mrs. Rendel!” said Pateley in his usual hearty tone, in which there was now an inflection of surprise and almost of anxiety.

Pateley had not met either of the Rendels since the day of his last interview with Sir William Gore, and he had carefully not investigated further the incident which had been of such great advantage to himself.

But in the last half-hour, since, under the seal of profound secrecy, it had been confided to him what had happened at the luncheon, and he had been anxiously asked what was the cloud hanging over Rendel, he had pieced things together in a way which brought him pretty near the truth.

It was beginning to be clear to him that Stamfordham had somehow visited upon Rendel the treachery into which he himself had practically led Gore. Stamfordham had asked Pateley at the time of the disclosure how the _Arbiter_ had become possessed of the information. Pateley had apologetically declined to give an explanation. But the ardent support given by the _Arbiter_ to Stamfordham's action in the matter and to all his subsequent policy had made it tolerably certain that Stamfordham would not bear him much malice. And, as a matter of fact, the whole affair had added to Stamfordham's reputation. The masterly way in which he had caught up the situation and dealt with it after the premature disclosure of the Agreement had added a fresh laurel to his crown.

As Pateley uttered the words, ”Mrs. Rendel,” the whole of the group who were standing near turned with a common impulse as if a thunderbolt had fallen into their midst, and he grasped at once that they had been talking within earshot of her of something she ought not to have heard.

Lady Adela was the first to recover her presence of mind.

”Come,” she said; ”we must go and take our places. I mean to have some tea if we can get it before the opening,” and she made a move in which the others joined.

Pateley, remaining by Rachel, lifted his hat to them as they strolled away. ”How long have you been at Schleppenheim?” he asked. ”I had no idea you were here.”

”We have been here,” said Rachel--”let me see--about a week.”

She looked anxious and disturbed.

”And where are you staying?” said Pateley.

”In the little pavilion behind the Hotel de Londres,” and she pointed.

”Charming place,” said Pateley. ”And how is your husband?”

”He is very well, thank you,” said Rachel. ”He has been out for a long walk to-day; he went for an expedition to the woods with Mr. Wentworth.”

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