‘May it not be—­down there—­a real danger?’

The drama, he could inform her, was only too naked down there for disappearances to be common.

‘Will it be published that she is missing?’

’She has her maid with her, a stout-hearted girl.  Both have courage.  I don’t think we need take measures just yet.’

‘Not before it is public property?’

Henrietta could have bitten her tongue for laying her open to the censure implied in his muteness.  Janey perverted her.

Women were an illegible manuscript, and ladies a closed book of the binding, to this raw philosopher, or he would not so coldly have judged the young wife, anxious on her husband’s account, that they might escape another scorching.  He carried away his impression.

Livia listened to a remark on his want of manners.

‘Russett puts it to the credit of his honesty,’ she said.  ’Honesty is everything with us at present.  The man has made his honesty an excellent speculation.  He puts a piece on zero and the bank hands him a sackful.  We may think we have won him to serve us, up comes his honesty.  That’s how we have Lady Arpington mixed in it—­too long a tale.  But be guided by me; condescend a little.’

’My dear! my whole mind is upon that unhappy girl.  It would break Chillon’s heart.’

Livia pished.  ’There are letters we read before we crack the seal.  She is out of that ditch, and it suits Russett that she should be.  He’s not often so patient.  A woman foot to foot against his will—­I see him throwing high stakes.  Tyrants are brutal; and really she provokes him enough.  You needn’t be alarmed about the treatment she ’ll meet.  He won’t let her beat him, be sure.’

Neither Livia nor Gower wondered at the clearing of the mystery, before it went to swell the scandal.  A young nobleman of ready power, quick temper, few scruples, and a taxed forbearance, was not likely to stand thwarted and goaded-and by a woman.  Lord Fleetwood acted his part, inscrutable as the blank of a locked door.  He could not conceal that he was behind the door.

CHAPTER XXV

THE PHILOSOPHER MAN OF ACTION

Gower’s bedroom window looked over the shrubs of the square, and as his form of revolt from a city life was to be up and out with the sparrows in the early flutter of morning, for a stretch of the legs where grass was green and trees were not enclosed, he rarely saw a figure below when he stood dressing.  Now there appeared a petticoated one stationary against the rails, with her face lifted.  She fronted the house, and while he speculated abstractedly, recognition rushed on him.  He was down and across the roadway at leaps.

‘It’s Madge here!’

The girl panted for her voice.

’Mr. Woodseer, I’m glad; I thought I should have to wait hours.  She’s safe.’

‘Where?’