Lady Kirton rubbed her face carefully with her handkerchief.  Not until this moment had she believed him to be in earnest, and the conviction frightened her.

“Why do you wish to separate from her?” she asked, in a subdued tone.

“I do not wish it.  I said I was willing to do so if she wished it.  You have been taking pains to convince me that Maude’s love was not mine, that she was only forced into the marriage with me.  Should this have been the case, I must be distasteful to her still; an encumbrance she may wish to get rid of.”

The countess-dowager had overshot her mark, and saw it.

“Oh well!  Perhaps I was mistaken about the past,” she said, staring at him very hard, and in a sort of defiance.  “Maude was always very close.  If you said anything about separation now, I dare say it would kill her.  My belief is, she does care for you, and a great deal more than you deserve.”

“It may be better to ascertain the truth from Maude—­”

“You won’t say a syllable to her!” cried the dowager, starting up in terror.  “She’d never forgive me; she’d turn me out of the house.  Hartledon, promise you won’t say a word to her.”

He stood back against the window, never speaking.

“She does love you; but I thought I’d frighten you, for you had no right to send Maude home alone; and it made me very cross, because I saw how she felt it.  Separation indeed!  What can you be thinking of?”

He was thinking of a great deal, no doubt; and his thoughts were as bitter as they could well be.  He did not wish to separate; come what might, he felt his place should be by his wife’s side as long as circumstances permitted it.

“Let me give you a word of warning, Lady Kirton.  I and my wife will be happy enough together, I daresay, if we are allowed to be; but the style of conversation you have just adopted to me will not conduce to it; it might retaliate on Maude, you see.  Do not again attempt it.”

“How you have changed!” was her involuntary remark.

“Yes; I am not the yielding boy I was.  And now I wish to speak of your son.  He seems very ill.”

“A troublesome intruding fellow, why can’t he keep his ailments to his own barracks?” was the wrathful rejoinder.  “I told Maude I wouldn’t have him here, and what does she do but write off and tell him to come!  I don’t like sick folk about me, and never did.  What do you want?”

The last question was addressed to Hedges, who had come in unsummoned.  It was only a letter for his master.  Lord Hartledon took it as a welcome interruption, went outside, and sat down on a garden-seat at a distance.  How he hated the style of attack just made on him; the style of the dowager altogether!  He asked himself in what manner he could avoid this for the future.  It was a debasing, lowering occurrence, and he felt sure that it could hardly have taken place in his servants’ hall.  But he was glad