She desired nothing less than another _tête-à-tête_ with the enraged and disappointed woman whom she had just saved from disgrace and guilt. For Lady Sarah was not grateful: the last glance she had thrown at the girl who saved her was full of a bitterness which prepared Rhoda for what she had to expect from her. As Rhoda glided quietly into the hall from the garden, she stopped and tried to draw back, on seeing Sir Robert was standing at the foot of the stairs. Above him, going slowly up, was Lady Sarah with her motor-coat over her arm, and her long veil, which she had untied, dragging on the stairs behind her. There was a sort of defiance in her slow tread, but Rhoda knew that, even if she had exchanged a few words with her husband, she had not had time for a conversation. The baronet turned on hearing Rhoda, and called to her. “Miss Pembury!” Rhoda would fain not have heard, but he repeated her name, and she came reluctantly forward. She guessed that her very looks must be a sort of betrayal, for she was shaking from head to foot. “You are not well,” he said kindly, but still with some sternness in his tone. “Oh, yes, I am, thank you.” He touched her hand. “You are cold.” “Yes. I’ve--I’ve been out in the grounds.” “Come with me to the study. I want to speak to you.” “Will you excuse me to-night, and speak to me in the morning?” pleaded she. He shook his head. “I won’t keep you long.” He led the way, and she followed reluctantly enough. When they were both in the study, he pointed to a chair, and as she fell into it rather than sat down, he said: “Don’t be afraid. I have very few questions to ask. I know without asking what has happened.” Rhoda, greatly startled, uttered a sort of sob. He looked at her. “I’ve grown more sharp-sighted of late,” he said gravely. “I can guess at some things now that I cannot see. I suppose you prevented Lady Sarah from running away?” It seemed to Rhoda that his tone was stern rather than grateful. She hung her head and said nothing. “What arguments did you use?” Rhoda hesitated. “You said you wouldn’t ask me questions,” whispered she. “Well, well, there is no need. I am convinced that my wife was trying to leave her home, and that it was something you did or said that stopped her. But what is the use? You can’t mount guard over her for ever. Nor can I. If she has made up her mind to go, what can be done?” Rhoda sat forward in her chair. “She won’t try again,” said she hoarsely. “What makes you think that?” “I can only tell you this, that I have a weapon, and that I’ve used it.” “What weapon?” Rhoda replied cautiously: “I have knowledge of something with which she had nothing to do, but which would seriously affect some one else.” “Won’t you trust me with it?” “No, Sir Robert.” “You will make me think it does concern my wife, after all, if you won’t tell me what it is.” But Rhoda was firm.