“Between one and two.”

“Sir Patrick will not be back till then?”

“Not till then.”

“Where is Mr. Brinkworth?”

“My husband?”

“Your husband—­if you like.  Is he out, too?”

“He is in the smoking-room.”

“Do you mean the long room, built out from the back of the house?”

“Yes.”

“Come down stairs at once with me.”

Blanche advanced a step—­and drew back.  “What do you want of me?” she asked, inspired by a sudden distrust.

Lady Lundie turned round, and looked at her impatiently.

“Can’t you see yet,” she said, sharply, “that your interest and my interest in this matter are one?  What have I told you?”

“Don’t repeat it!”

“I must repeat it!  I have told you that Arnold Brinkworth was privately at Craig Fernie, with Miss Silvester, in the acknowledged character of her husband—­when we supposed him to be visiting the estate left him by his aunt.  You refuse to believe it—­and I am about to put it to the proof.  Is it your interest or is it not, to know whether this man deserves the blind belief that you place in him?”

Blanche trembled from head to foot, and made no reply.

“I am going into the garden, to speak to Mr. Brinkworth through the smoking-room window,” pursued her ladyship.  “Have you the courage to come with me; to wait behind out of sight; and to hear what he says with his own lips?  I am not afraid of putting it to that test.  Are you?”

The tone in which she asked the question roused Blanche’s spirit.

“If I believed him to be guilty,” she said, resolutely, “I should not have the courage.  I believe him to be innocent.  Lead the way, Lady Lundie, as soon as you please.”

They left the room—­Blanche’s own room at Ham Farm—­and descended to the hall.  Lady Lundie stopped, and consulted the railway time-table hanging near the house-door.

“There is a train to London at a quarter to twelve,” she said.  “How long does it take to walk to the station?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You will soon know.  Answer my question.”

“It’s a walk of twenty minutes to the station.”

Lady Lundie referred to her watch.  “There will be just time,” she said.

“Time for what?”

“Come into the garden.”

With that answer, she led the way out

The smoking-room projected at right angles from the wall of the house, in an oblong form—­with a bow-window at the farther end, looking into the garden.  Before she turned the corner, and showed herself within the range of view from the window Lady Lundie looked back, and signed to Blanche to wait behind the angle of the wall.  Blanche waited.

The next instant she heard the voices in conversation through the open window.  Arnold’s voice was the first that spoke.

“Lady Lundie!  Why, we didn’t expect you till luncheon time!”