By the very good-fellowship of her greeting she restored me to myself and enabled me to stamp down—­at least temporarily—­the monster through whose greedy eyes I had found myself considering the happiness of Eric Coverly.

“I am afraid, Isobel,” I replied, “that what I have to tell you is not by any means pleasant—­although—­”

“Yes?” she prompted, noting how I hesitated.

“Although it means that you are now the future Lady Coverly.”

The bright color left her cheeks.  That some black tragedy underlay my words she had intuitively perceived, but I could see that she failed to grasp the whole meaning of my bald statement.  She sank down slowly into a cushioned chair, so that a beam of golden light pouring in through the opened window set aglowing the russet tints in her dark brown hair.

“Did you know Sir Marcus?” I asked, speaking as gently as I could.

With what intense, if hidden, emotion I awaited her answer it were impossible to describe.

“Do you mean—­”

She met my glance, and I nodded gravely.

“Oh, Jack!  When did it happen?”

“Last night.  But you have not told me if you knew him?” I persisted.

Isobel shook her head.

“Not in any way—­intimately,” she replied.  “Eric”—­she hesitated, glancing up quickly and as quickly down again—­“and he were not on good terms.”

“But you had met him?” I persisted; for I had detected in her manner a reluctance to discuss Sir Marcus which I failed to understand.

“I used to meet him, Jack, when—­when you were away.  He came once or twice with Eric.  They were not good friends, even then.  But I never liked him.  I quite lost sight of him from the time that he came into the title—­about four years ago, was it not?—­until quite recently.  He had been in Russia, I think.  Then he—­” Again she hesitated.  It was odd how often people hesitated, as if seeking for words, when speaking of the late baronet.  “He called at the theater.  Considering that he knew of my engagement to Eric, his manner was not quite nice.  But I was anxious to prevent trouble, and did not mention the visit to Eric.  Sir Marcus was very persistent, however.  One night Eric saw him leaving the stage-door and I believe there was a dreadful scene at Eric’s rooms.”

“And that is all you know of him, Isobel?”

“Practically all, except what I have heard, of course.  I might add that I instructed Marie to tell Sir Marcus I was engaged whenever he might call in future.”

“And did he call again?”

“Marie said that he sent his card up on several occasions, but she knew how the affair worried me and did not tell me at the time.  I saw him in the stalls occasionally, and—­oh!—­”

The last word was a mere murmur.  Isobel’s expression grew more than ever troubled.

“He was there last night,” she whispered, and raising her eyes to me:  “Tell me how it happened, and where—­”