“Hang Conolly!  Everybody thinks of Marian, and nobody of Susanna.  I have heard enough of that side of the question.  Marian married him with her eyes open.”

“Do you mean to say that she knew?”

“Of course she did.  Conolly told her, fairly enough.  He’s an extraordinary card, that fellow.”

“Reginald Lind told my mother that the discovery was made by accident after the marriage, and that they were all shocked by it.  It was he who said that it was Conolly’s cousin that you were with.”

“Uncle Rej. is an old liar.  So are most of the family:  I never believe a word they say.”

“Marian must have been infatuated.  I advise you to break the connexion.  She will be glad to give you the child if she sees that you are resolved to leave her.  She only holds on because she hopes to make it the means of bringing you back.”

“I expect youre about right.  She wants me to meet her here to-day at half past three.  Thats the reason I came.”

“Do you know that it now wants twenty minutes of four?”

“Whew!  So it does.  I had better go and look for her.  I’m very much obliged to you, old fellow, for talking it over with me.  I suppose you dont want to meet her.”

“I should be in the way at present.”

“Then good-bye.”

Marmaduke, leaving Douglas in the grill-room, went upstairs to the picture galleries, where several students were more or less busy at their easels.  Lady Constance was in the Sheepshanks gallery, copying “Sterne’s Maria,” by Charles Landseer, as best she could.  She had been annoyed some minutes before by the behavior of a stout woman in a rich costume of black silk, who had stopped for a moment to inspect her drawing.  Lady Constance, by a look, had made her aware that she was considered intrusive, whereupon she had first stared Lady Constance out of countenance, and then deliberately scanned her work with an expression which conveyed a low opinion of its merit.  Having thus revenged herself, she stood looking uneasily at the door for a minute, and at last wandered away into the adjoining gallery.  A few minutes later Marmaduke entered, looking round as if in search of someone.

“Here I am,” said Constance to him, playfully.

“So I see,” said Marmaduke, recognizing her with rueful astonishment.  “You knew I was looking for you, did you?”

“Of course I did, sir.”

“Youre clever, so you are.  What are you doing here?”

“Dont you see?  I am copying a picture.”

“Oh! it’s very pretty.  Which one are you copying?”

“What an impertinent question!  You can tell my poor copy well enough, only you pretend not to.”

“Yes, now that I look closely at it, I fancy it’s a little like Mary the maid of the inn there.”

“It’s not Mary:  it’s Maria—­Sterne’s Maria.”

“Indeed!  Do you read Sterne?”

“Certainly not,” said Constance, looking very serious.