‘But how does he know—­dear me, dear me!  I beg pardon,’ said the viscount.

She looked at him curiously, as if to imply that he was seriously out of his reckoning in respect of her if he supposed that he would be allowed to continue this little play at love-making as long as he chose, when she was offered the position of wife by a man so good as Neigh.

They stood in silence side by side till, much to her ease, Cornelia appeared at the corner waiting.  At the last moment he said, in somewhat agitated tones, and with what appeared to be a renewal of the respect which had been imperceptibly dropped since they crossed the Channel, ’I was not aware of your engagement to Mr. Neigh.  I fear I have been acting mistakenly on that account.’

‘There is no engagement as yet,’ said she.

Lord Mountclere brightened like a child.  ’Then may I have a few words in private—­’

‘Not now—­not to-day,’ said Ethelberta, with a certain irritation at she knew not what.  ’Believe me, Lord Mountclere, you are mistaken in many things.  I mean, you think more of me than you ought.  A time will come when you will despise me for this day’s work, and it is madness in you to go further.’

Lord Mountclere, knowing what he did know, may have imagined what she referred to; but Ethelberta was without the least proof that he had the key to her humour.  ‘Well, well, I’ll be responsible for the madness,’ he said.  ’I know you to be—­a famous woman, at all events; and that’s enough.  I would say more, but I cannot here.  May I call upon you?’

‘Not now.’

‘When shall I?’

‘If you must, let it be a month hence at my house in town,’ she said indifferently, the Hamlet mood being still upon her.  ’Yes, call upon us then, and I will tell you everything that may remain to be told, if you should be inclined to listen.  A rumour is afloat which will undeceive you in much, and depress me to death.  And now I will walk back:  pray excuse me.’  She entered the street, and joined Cornelia.

Lord Mountclere paced irregularly along, turned the corner, and went towards his inn, nearing which his tread grew lighter, till he scarcely seemed to touch the ground.  He became gleeful, and said to himself, nervously palming his hip with his left hand, as if previous to plunging it into hot water for some prize:  ’Upon my life I’ve a good mind!  Upon my life I have!. . . .  I must make a straightforward thing of it, and at once; or he will have her.  But he shall not, and I will—­hee-hee!’

The fascinated man, screaming inwardly with the excitement, glee, and agony of his position, entered the hotel, wrote a hasty note to Ethelberta and despatched it by hand, looked to his dress and appearance, ordered a carriage, and in a quarter of an hour was being driven towards the Hotel Beau Sejour, whither his note had preceded him.

35.  The hotel (continued), and the quay in front