“You are thinking,” she said, slowly, “that Angela Caresfoot is a formidable rival.”

Mildred started.

“How can you pretend to read my thoughts?”

She laughed a little.

“I am an adept at the art.  Don’t be down-hearted.  I should not be surprised if, after all, the engagement between Mr. Heigham and Angela Caresfoot should come to nothing.  Of course, I speak in perfect confidence.”

“Of course.”

“Well, the marriage is not altogether agreeable to the father, who would prefer another and more suitable match.  But, unfortunately, there is no way of shaking the young lady’s determination.”

“Indeed.”

“But I think that, with assistance, a way might be found.”

Their eyes met, and this time Mildred took up the parable.

“Should I be wrong, Lady Bellamy, if I supposed that you have not come to Madeira solely for pleasure?”

“A wise person always tries to combine business and pleasure.”

“And in this case the business combined is in connection with Mr. Heigham’s engagement?”

“Exactly.”

“And supposing that I were to tell him this?”

“Had I not known that you would on no account tell Mr. Heigham, I should not have told you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I will answer your question by another.  Did you ever yet know a woman, who loved a man, willingly help him to the arms of a rival, unless indeed she was forced to it?” she added, with something like a sigh.

Mildred Carr’s snowy bosom heaved tumultuously, and the rose-leaf hue faded from her cheeks.

“You mean that I am in love with Arthur Heigham.  On what do you base that belief?”

“On a base as broad as the pyramids of which you were talking at dinner.  Public report, not nearly so misleading a guide as people think, your face, your voice, your eyes, all betray you.  Why do you always try to get near him to touch him?—­answer me that.  I have seen you do it three times this evening.  Once you handed him a book in order to touch his hand beneath it; but there is no need to enumerate what you doubtless very well remember.  No nice woman, Mrs. Carr, ever likes to continually touch a man unless she loves him.  You are always listening for his voice and step, you are listening for them now.  Your eyes follow his face as a dog does his master’s—­when you speak to him, your voice is a caress in itself.  Shall I go on?”

“I think that it is unnecessary.  Whether you be right or not, I will give you the credit of being a close observer.”

“To observe with me is at once a task and an amusement, and the habit is one that leads me to accurate conclusions, as I think you will admit.  The conclusion I have come to in your case is that you do not wish to see Arthur Heigham married to another woman.  I spoke just now of assistance——­”

“I have none to give, I will give none.  How could I look him in the face?”