Part 36 (1/2)

”I think,” said that lady, with a sigh of relief at the end of his narration, which, it may be remarked, took the best part of half an hour, ”I think dear Isabelle's happiness should outweigh any social disparity, and that we may consider her as good as married.”

”Yes,” he replied, remembering that the church bells had stopped ringing some fifteen minutes before. ”Yes, your Ladys.h.i.+p, I think we may.”

A few minutes later Stanley found himself in one of the secluded stretches of the park, breathing in the fresh keen morning air with a new sense of delight, after the inherent stuffiness of the Dowager.

He trusted that Lady Isabelle would break the news to her mother at once, and get it over before he returned; but even then he had an unpleasant interview before him. As an accepted suitor the Marchioness would owe him an apology, which he could not avoid accepting. He hoped he could do the heart-broken and disappointed lover, whose feelings were tempered by the calm repression of high gentility. It was the role he had figured for himself, and he thought it excellent.

All his ideas, however, were centred on the problem of recovering the lost doc.u.ment; some means of entry to that secret tower there must be, and he must find it. He could not, of course, be certain that the paper contained Darcy's instructions; but it was admittedly important, and its loss had done him an injury which could only be atoned for by its recovery.

A light footfall interrupted his meditations, and looking up, he saw, standing before him, half screened by the bushes which she was holding back, to give her free access to the main path which he was pursuing, the graceful figure and sad, sweet face of Madame Darcy.

A shade of annoyance pa.s.sed over his brow as he remembered the scene of the night before, and his companion was quick to interpret his mood.

”Ah, Mr. Stanley,” she said, ”you've seen my husband.”

”Yes,” he admitted. ”He came up to the Hall last night.”

”I hope he didn't make himself a nuisance,” she said.

”Well, I'm afraid he did rather,” he returned, and added, ”but it's nothing,” for he felt that it would be impossible for him to tell her what had really occurred.

”I'm so sorry,” she cried. ”I only bring you trouble.”

”No, indeed,” he hastened to a.s.sure her, ”far from it. These little talks with you are a positive rest and refreshment to me. I hate this playing the spy.”

”I suppose it won't do for me to ask how you're progressing, and what you've found out?”

”I've found out that I've made an awful fool of myself,” he said. ”Mr.

Riddle----”

”I could have told you who Mr. Riddle was yesterday,” she said.

The Secretary shrugged his shoulders.

”I'm afraid that would have been of little use.”

”Be very careful,” she warned him. ”There are others besides Mr. Riddle whom you have to look out for.”

Could it be possible, he asked himself, that she suspected her husband?

Aloud, he said:

”Whom do you mean?”

She shrugged her shoulders. ”It's not for me to belie my own s.e.x,” she retorted, ”but----”

”You mean there is a woman in the case?”