Mercifully, Lady Henry was already somewhat sleepy, partly from weakness, partly from a dose of bromide.

“I hear nothing,” she said, putting out an impatient hand.  “You should raise your voice.  I didn’t mean you to shout, of course.  Thank you—­that’ll do.  Good-night.  Tell Hutton to keep the house as quiet as he can.  People must knock and ring, I suppose; but if all the doors are properly shut it oughtn’t to bother me.  Are you going to bed?”

“I shall sit up a little to write some letters.  But—­I sha’n’t be late.”

“Why should you be late?” said Lady Henry, tartly, as she turned away.

* * * * *

Julie made her way down-stairs with a beating heart.  All the doors were carefully shut behind her.  When she reached the hall it was already half-past ten o’clock.  She hurried to the library, the large panelled room behind the dining-room.  How bright Hutton had made it look!  Up shot her spirits.  With a gay and dancing step she went from chair to chair, arranging everything instinctively as she was accustomed to do in the drawing-room.  She made the flowers less stiff; she put on another light; she drew one table forward and pushed its fellow back against the wall.  What a charming old room, after all!  What a pity Lady Henry so seldom used it!  It was panelled in dark oak, while the drawing-room was white.  But the pictures, of which there were two or three, looked even better here than up-stairs.  That beautiful Lawrence—­a “red boy” in gleaming satin—­that pair of Hoppners, fine studies in blue, why, who had ever seen them before?  And another light or two would show them still better.

A loud knock and ring.  Julie held her breath.  Ah!  A distant voice in the hall.  She moved to the fire, and stood quietly reading an evening paper.

“Captain Warkworth would be glad if you would see him for a few minutes, miss.  He would like to ask you himself about her ladyship.”

“Please ask him to come in, Hutton.”

Hutton effaced himself, and the young man entered, Then Julie raised her voice.

“Remember, please, Hutton, that I particularly want to see the Duchess.”

Hutton bowed and retired.  Warkworth came forward.

“What luck to find you like this!”

He threw her one look—­Julie knew it to be a look of scrutiny—­and then, as she held out her hand, he stooped and kissed it.

“He wants to know that my suspicions are gone,” she thought.  “At any rate, he should believe it.”

“The great thing,” she said, with her finger to her lip, “is that Lady Henry should hear nothing.”

She motioned her somewhat puzzled guest to a seat on one side of the fire, and, herself, fell into another opposite.  A wild vivacity was in her face and manner.

“Isn’t this amusing?  Isn’t the room charming?  I think I should receive very well”—­she looked round her—­“in my own house.”