"It is for me to ask that," she answered. "As for you, you must know something. He always admired her, did he not? He made her the toast at the Wells--before he married money. It is all very romantic. He asks her to keep single for his sake--he of all men!--and she refuses a good match, and it gets into the papers, this sentimental story." With that my lady threw back her head and watched her darts take effect. He was openly restive under her scrutiny, uneasy too it seemed, and troubled. "What has this to do with Miss Chressham?" he asked. The Countess lifted her dead-white shoulders. "She is the mediator--the friend of Miss Boyle. She hates me, of course. Why not?" A smile curled the thin vermilion lips. "And there is Sir Francis, a good youth, honestly in love. Is my lord too jaded to be goaded into a meeting? Perhaps not, so consultations, tears, and Susannah Chressham pledging herself to prevent bloodshed, Miss Boyle in despair, and the world laughing!" Marius took a quick turn away from her, then back again. She sat forward, the flame-coloured domino falling apart over the purple dress, the black yet gleaming fan held across her knee like a weapon. The mirror behind reflected her heavy grey curls, the stiff bright roses in among the wreathed pearls and her bare white shoulders. "Should _I_ laugh, Marius?" she asked, and her luminous eyes were wild. "I do not know why you tell me this," he answered slowly, as if reluctant to speak to her at all; yet he was incapable of silencing her, of escaping her, or even of taking his eyes from her face. "I suppose it seems nothing to you," continued the Countess, "but I am not one of these people--your people--and to me it is something." "What matter can idle scandal like this be to any of us?" said Marius desperately. "It is true," answered Lady Lyndwood. "As you know----" "What have I to do with my lord's affairs?" "Nothing, perhaps, and something, too, perhaps. At least, you know this is true. Were not their names coupled before his marriage?" Marius was silent. The curious impersonal way in which she referred to her husband vexed and galled him, yet he felt a prick of indignation against Rose and against Selina Boyle. The Countess was his brother's wife, Marius Lyndwood had a strong sense of fairness, a keen instinct for justice and order. "She hath been enamoured of him since they first met," said Lady Lyndwood; "and he, I suppose, is in love with her, or rather, I take it, he fancies an idyll as background to his amusements. Either way they scorn to think of me--Jack Hilton's daughter! The whole of the town knows now how they have exchanged their sentimentalities over my head." "How did it get into the papers?" asked Marius heavily. "I cannot tell." Her voice was contemptuous. "Some maid of hers not sufficiently bribed. What does it matter? I think it has been plain enough to everyone from the first." "It will matter to Miss Boyle."