“No,” said she, steadfastly.

He smiled indulgently; pressed her hand for a moment against his cheek; and went out for the short walk he was accustomed to take before retiring.

CHAPTER XV

In October Marian was at Sark, holiday making at the house of Hardy McQuinch’s brother, who had recently returned to England with a fortune made in Australia.  Conolly, having the house at Holland Park to himself, fitted a spare room as a laboratory, and worked there every night.  One evening, returning home alone a little before five o’clock, he shut himself into this laboratory, and had just set to work when Armande, the housemaid, interrupted him.

“Mrs. Leith Fairfax, sir.”

Conolly had had little intercourse with Mrs. Fairfax since before his marriage, when he had once shewn her the working of his invention at Queen Victoria Street; and as Marian had since resented her share of Douglas’s second proposal by avoiding her society as far as possible without actually discontinuing her acquaintance, this visit was a surprise.  Conolly looked darkly at Armande, and went to the drawing-room without a word.

“How do you do, Mr. Conolly?” said Mrs. Fairfax, as he entered.  “I need not ask:  you are looking so well.  Have I disturbed you?”

“You have—­most agreeably.  Pray sit down.”

“I know your time is priceless.  I should never have ventured to come, but that I felt sure you would like to hear all the news from Sark.  I have been there for the last fortnight.  Marian told me to call on you the moment I returned.”

“Yes,” said Conolly, convinced that this was not true.  “She promised to do so in her last letter.”

Mrs. Fairfax, on the point of publishing a few supplementary fictions, checked herself, and looked suspiciously at him.

“The air of Sark has evidently benefited you,” he said, as she paused.  “You are looking very well—­I had almost said charming.”

Mrs. Fairfax glanced archly at him, and said, “Nonsense! but, indeed, the trip was absolutely necessary for me.  I should hardly have been alive had I remained at work; and poor Willie McQuinch was bent on having me.”

“He has been described to me as an inveterate lion hunter.”

“It is not at all pleasant, I assure you, to be persecuted with invitations from people who wish to see a real live novelist.  But William McQuinch’s place at Sark is really palatial.  He is called Sarcophagus on account of his wealth.  A great many people whom he knew were staying in the island, besides those in the house with us.  Marian was the beauty of the place.  How every one admires her!  Why do you not go down, Mr. Conolly?”

“I am too busy.  Besides, it will do Marian good to be rid of me for a while.”

“Absurd, Mr. Conolly!  You should not leave her there by herself.”

“By herself!  Why, is not the place full?”