"Well, then, that's settled. Regard me, please, as your henchman. Well!--have you read any Madame de Noailles?" He fancied he saw a slight impatient movement. "Not yet, I'm afraid. I've been living in a sick room." Again he expressed polite sympathy, while his thoughts repeated--"What waste!--what absurdity!" "She might distract you--especially in these winter days. Her verse is the very quintessence of summer--of hot gardens and their scents--of roses--and June twilights. It takes one out of this leafless north." He stretched a hand to the landscape. And suddenly, while his heavy face kindled, he began to recite. His French was immaculate--even to a sensitive and well-trained ear; and his voice, which in speaking was disagreeable, took in reciting deep and beautiful notes, which easily communicated to a listener the thrill, the passion, of sensuous pleasure, which certain poetry produced in himself. But it communicated no such thrill to Delia. She was only irritably conscious of the uncouthness of his large cadaverous face, and straggling fair hair; of his ragged ulster, his loosened tie, and all the other untidy details of his dress. "And I shall have to go on meeting him!" she thought, with repulsion. "And at the end of this walk (the gate was in sight) I shall have to shake hands with him--and he'll hold my hand." She loathed the thought of it; but she knew very well that she Was under coercion--for Gertrude's sake. The recollection of Winnington--away in Latchford on county business--smote her sharply. But how could she help it? She must--_must_ keep in touch with this man--who had Gertrude in his power. While these thoughts were running through her mind, he stopped his recitation abruptly. "Am I to help you any more--with the jewels?" Delia started. Lathrop was smiling at her, and she resented the smile. She had forgotten. But there was no help for it. She must have more money. It might be, in the last resort, the means of bargaining with Gertrude. And how could she ask Mark Winnington! So she hurriedly thanked him, naming a tiara and two pendants, that she thought must be valuable. "All right," said Lathrop, taking out a note-book from his breast pocket, and looking at certain entries he had made on the occasion of his visit to Maumsey. "I remember--worth a couple of thousand at least. When shall I have them?" "I will send them registered--to-morrow--from Latchford." "_ Tres bien_! I will do my best. You know Mr. Winnington has offered me a commission?" His eyes laughed. Delia turned upon him. "And you ought to accept it, Mr. Lathrop! It would be kinder to all of us." She spoke with spirit and dignity. But he laughed again and shook his head. "My reward, you see, is just _not_ to be paid. My fee is your presence--in this wood--your little word of thanks--and the hand you give me--on the bargain!"