“Yes; but I do not mean that.  There is nobody belonging to her there.”

“You forget.  Miss McQuinch is her bosom friend.  There is Marmaduke, her cousin; and his mother, her Aunt Dora.  Then, is there not Mr. Sholto Douglas, one of her oldest and most attached friends?”

“Oh!  Is Mr. Douglas in charge of her?”

“No doubt he will take charge of her, if she is overtaken by her second childhood whilst he is there.  Meanwhile, she is in charge of herself, is she not?  And there is hardly any danger of her feeling lonely.”

“No.  Sholto Douglas will provide against that.”

“Your opinion confirms the accounts I have had from other sources.  It appears that Mr. Douglas is very attentive to my wife.”

“Very, indeed, Mr. Conolly.  You must not think that I am afraid of anything—­anything—­”

“Anything?”

“Well—­Oh, you know what I mean.  Anything wrong.  At least, not exactly wrong, but—­”

“Anything undomestic.”

“Yes.  You see, Marian’s position is a very difficult one.  She is so young and so good looking that she is very much observed; and it seems so strange her being without her husband.”

“Pretty ladies whose husbands are never seen, often get talked about in the world, do they not?”

“That is just what I mean.  How cleverly you get everything out of me, Mr. Conolly!  I called here without the faintest idea of alluding to Marian’s situation; and now you have made me say all sorts of things.  What a fortune you would have made at the bar!”

“I must apologize, I did not mean to cross-examine you.  Naturally, of course, you would not like to make me uneasy about Marian.”

“It is the very last thing I should desire.  But now that it has slipped out, I really think you ought to go to Sark.”

“Indeed!  I rather infer that I should be very much in the way.”

“The more reason for you to go, Mr. Conolly.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Leith Fairfax.  The attentions of a husband are stale, unsuited to holiday time.  Picture to yourself my arrival at Sark with the tender assurance in my mouth, ‘Marian, I love you.’  She would reply, ‘So you ought.  Am I not your wife?’ The same advance from another—­Mr. Douglas, for instance—­would affect her quite differently, and much more pleasantly.”

“Mr. Conolly; is this indifference, or supreme confidence?”

“Neither of these conjugal claptraps.  I merely desire that Marian should enjoy herself as much as possible; and the more a woman is admired, the happier she is.  Perhaps you think that, in deference to the general feeling in such matters, I should become jealous.”

Mrs. Fairfax again looked doubtfully at him.  “I cannot make you out at all, Mr. Conolly,” she said submissively.  “I hope I have not offended you.”

“Not in the least.  I take it that having observed certain circumstances which seemed to threaten the welfare of one very dear to you (as, I am aware, Marian is), the trouble they caused you found unpremeditated expression in the course of a conversation with me.”  Conolly beamed at her, as if he thought this rather neatly turned.