Here again were surprises for her.  Aldous had never made the smallest claim to special knowledge on all those subjects she had so often insisted on making him discuss.  He had been always tentative and diffident, deferential even so far as her own opinions were concerned.  And here already was the library of a student.  All the books she had ever read or heard discussed were here—­and as few among many.  The condition of them, moreover, the signs of close and careful reading she noticed in them, as she took them out, abashed her:  she had never learnt to read in this way.  It was her first contact with an exact and arduous culture.  She thought of how she had instructed Lord Maxwell at luncheon.  No doubt he shared his grandson’s interests.  Her cheek burned anew; this time because it seemed to her that she had been ridiculous.

“I don’t know why you never told me you took a particular interest in these subjects,” she said suddenly, turning round upon him resentfully—­she had just laid down, of all things, a volume of Venturist essays.  “You must have thought I talked a great deal of nonsense at luncheon.”

“Why!—­I have always been delighted to find you cared for such things and took an interest in them.  How few women do!” he said quite simply, opening his eyes.  “Do you know these three pamphlets?  They were privately printed, and are very rare.”

He took out a book and showed it to her as one does to a comrade and equal—­as he might have done to Edward Hallin.  But something was jarred in her—­conscience or self-esteem—­and she could not recover her sense of heroineship.  She answered absently, and when he returned the book to the shelf she said that it was time for her to go, and would he kindly ask for her maid, who was to walk with her?

“I will ring for her directly,” he said.  “But you will let me take you home?” Then he added hurriedly, “I have some business this afternoon with a man who lives in your direction.”

She assented a little stiffly—­but with an inward thrill.  His words and manner seemed suddenly to make the situation unmistakable.  Among the books it had been for the moment obscured.

He rang for his own servant, and gave directions about the maid.  Then they went downstairs that Marcella might say good-bye.

Miss Raeburn bade her guest farewell, with a dignity which her small person could sometimes assume, not unbecomingly.  Lady Winterbourne held the girl’s hand a little, looked her out of countenance, and insisted on her promising again to come to Winterbourne Park the following Tuesday.  Then Lord Maxwell, with old-fashioned politeness, made Marcella take his arm through the hall.

“You must come and see us again,” he said smiling; “though we are such belated old Tories, we are not so bad as we sound.”

And under cover of his mild banter he fixed a penetrating attentive look upon her.  Flushed and embarrassed!  Had it indeed been done already? or would Aldous settle it on this walk?  To judge from his manner and hers, the thing was going with rapidity.  Well, well, there was nothing for it but to hope for the best.