Every word he said helped her back to assurance.  It was all so reasonable and well weighed.  If he had said there was no danger, she would have feared the more, but his very recognition of it gave her security.  And above all, his tranquility and his strength were enormous assets on his side.

She drew a breath, and decided to go forward.

“And Mr. Cathcart?” she asked.

He smiled again.

“You can see what he is,” he said.  “I should advise you not to see him again.  It’s of no sort of use.”

Chapter XIII

I

The weather forecasts had been in the right; and the few that struggled homewards that night from church fought against a south-west wind that tore, laden with driving rain, up the streets and across the open spaces, till the very lights were dimmed in the tall street lamps and shone only through streaming panes that seemed half opaque with mist and vapor.  In Queen’s Gate hardly one lighted window showed that the houses were inhabited.  So fierce was the clamor and storm of the broad street that men made haste to shut out every glimpse of the night, and the fanlights above the doors, or here and there a line of brightness where some draught had tossed the curtains apart, were the only signs of human life.  Outside the broad pavements stared like surfaces of some canal, black and mirror-like, empty of passengers, catching every spark or hint of light from house and lamp, transforming it to a tall streak of glimmering wetness.

The housekeeper’s room in this house on the right was the more delightful from the contrast.  It was here that the august assembly was held every evening after supper, set about with rigid etiquette and ancient rite.  Its windows looked on to the little square garden at the back, but were now tight shuttered and curtained; and the room was a very model of comfort and warmth.  Before the fire a square table was drawn up, set out with pudding and fruit, for it was here that the upper servants withdrew after the cold meat and beer of the servants’ hall, to be waited upon by the butler’s boy:  and it was round this that the four sat in state—­housekeeper, butler, lady’s maid, and cook.

It was already after ten o’clock; and Mr. Parker was permitted to smoke a small cigar.  They had discussed the weather, the sermon that Miss Baker had heard in the morning, and the prospects of a Dissolution; and they had once more returned to the mysteries that were being enacted upstairs.  They were getting accustomed to them now, and there was not a great deal to say, unless they repeated themselves, which they had no objection to do.  Their attitude was one of tolerant skepticism, tempered by an agreeable tendency on the part of Miss Baker to become agitated after a certain point.  Mr. Vincent, it was generally conceded, was a respectable sort of man, with an air about him that could hardly be put into words, and it was thought to be a pity that he lent himself to such superstition.  Mrs. Stapleton had been long ago dismissed as a silly sort of woman, though with a will of her own; and her ladyship, of course, must have her way; it could not last long, it was thought.