“I will come and see you. I do not wish to avoid you if you are in trouble.” “Do,” said Susanna, eagerly, touching Marian’s hand with her moist palm. “We’ll get on better than you think. I like you, and I’ll make you like me. If I could only keep from it for two days, I shouldnt be a bit disgusting. Good-night.” “Good-night,” said Marian, overcoming her repugnance to Susanna’s hand, and clasping it. “Remember that my name here is Mrs. Forster.” “All right. Good-night. Thank you. You will never be sorry for having compassion on me.” “Wont you take a light?” “I dont require one. I can find what I want in the dark.” She went into her apartment. Marian went quickly up to her own bedroom and locked herself in. Her first loathing for Susanna had partly given way to pity; but the humiliation of confessing herself to such a woman as an unfaithful wife was galling. When she went to sleep she dreamed that she was unmarried and at home with her father, and that the household was troubled by Susanna, who lodged in a room upstairs. CHAPTER XX Sholto Douglas returned to England in the ship which carried Marian’s letter to Elinor. On reaching London he stayed a night in the hotel at Euston, and sent his man next day to take rooms for him at the West End. Early in the afternoon the man reported that he had secured apartments in Charles Street, St. James’s. It was a fine wintry day, and Douglas resolved to walk, not without a sense of being about to run the gauntlet. It proved the most adventurous walk he had ever taken in his life. Everybody he knew seemed to be lying in wait for him. In Portland Place he met Miss McQuinch, who, with the letter fresh in her pocket, looked at him indignantly, and cut him. At the Laugham Hotel he passed a member of his club, who seemed surprised, but nodded coolly. In Regent Street he saw Lady Carbury’s carriage waiting before a shop. He hurried past the door, for he had lost courage at his encounter with Elinor. There were, however, two doors; and as he passed the second, the Countess, Lady Constance, and Marmaduke came out just before him. “Where the devil is the carriage?” said Marmaduke, loudly. “Hush! Everybody can hear you,” said Lady Constance. “What do I care whether—Hal-lo! Douglas! How are you?” Marmaduke proffered his hand. Lady Carbury plucked her daughter by the sleeve and hurried to her carriage, after returning Douglas’s stern look with the slightest possible bow. Constance imitated her mother. Douglas haughtily raised his hat. “How obstinate Marmaduke is!” said the Countess, when she had bidden the coachman drive away at once. “He is going to walk down Regent Street with that man.” “But you didnt cut him, mamma.” “I never dreamed of his coming back so soon; and, of course, I cannot tell whether he will be cut or not. We must wait and see what other people will do. If we meet him again we had better not see him.”