The Reverend Dives Marlowe was in no mood just at that moment to be trotted about on that offensive old lady's messages. But it is not permitted to gentlemen, even of his sacred calling, to refuse, in this wise, to make themselves the obedient humble servants of the fair sex, and to tell them to go on their own errands. Silently he made her a slight bow, secretly resolving to avail himself sparingly of his opportunities of cultivating her society for the future. Perhaps it was owing to some mesmeric reciprocity, but exactly at this moment M. Varbarriere opened his eyes, arose, and walked towards the fireplace, as if his object had been to contemplate the ornaments over the chimneypiece; and arriving at the hearthrug, and beholding Lady Alice, he courteously drew near, and accosted her with a deferential gallantry, saving the Reverend Dives Marlowe, who was skirting the other side of the round table, the remainder of his tour. CHAPTER XXX. Varbarriere picks up something about Donica Gwynn. Drawing-room conversation seldom opens like an epic in the thick of the plot, and the introductory portions, however graceful, are seldom worth much. M. Varbarriere and Lady Alice had been talking some two or three minutes, when she made this inquiry. "When did you last see the elder Mr. Strangways, whom you mentioned at dinner?" "Lately, very lately--within this year." "Did he seem pretty well?" "Perfectly well." "What does he think about it all?" "I find a difficulty. If Lady Alice Redcliffe will define her question----" "I mean--well, I should have asked you first, whether he ever talked to you about the affairs of that family--the Deverell family--I mean as they were affected by the loss of a deed. I don't understand these things well; but it involved the loss, they say, of an estate; and then there was the great misfortune of my life." M. Varbarriere here made a low and reverential bow of sympathy; he knew she meant the death of her son. "Upon this latter melancholy subject he entirely sympathises with you. His grief of course has long abated, but his indignation survives." "And well it may, sir. And what does he say of the paper that disappeared?" "He thinks, madam, that it was stolen." "Ha! So do I." The confidential and secret nature of their talk had drawn their heads together, and lowered their voices. "He thinks it was abstracted by one of the Marlowe family." "Which of them? Go on, sir." "Well, by old Sir Harry Marlowe, the father of Sir Jekyl." "It certainly _was_ he; it could have been no other; it was stolen, that is, I don't suppose by his hand; I don't know, perhaps it was; he was capable of a great deal; _I_ say nothing, Monsieur Varbarriere." Perhaps that gentleman thought she had said a good deal; but he was as grave on this matter as she. "You seem, madam, very positive. May I be permitted to inquire whether you think there exists proof of the fact?" "I don't speak from proof, sir."