‘His worship of that Dr. Shrapnel is extraordinary,’ quoth Rosamund.  ’And how did Mr. Romfrey behave to him?’

‘My father thinks, very forbearingly.’

Rosamund sighed and made a semblance of wringing her hands.  ’It seems to me that I anticipated ever since I heard of the man . . . or at least ever since I saw him and heard him, he would be the evil genius of us all:  if I dare include myself.  But I am not permitted to escape!  And, Miss Halkett, can you tell me how it was that my name—­that I became involved?  I cannot imagine the circumstances which would bring me forward in this unhappy affair.’

Cecilia replied:  ’The occasion was, that Captain Beauchamp so scornfully contrasted the sort of injury done by Dr. Shrapnel’s defence of a poacher on his uncle’s estate, with the severe chastisement inflicted by Mr. Romfrey in revenge for it.  He would not leave the subject.’

‘I see him—­see his eyes!’ cried Rosamund, her bosom heaving and sinking deep, as her conscience quavered within her.  ’At last Mr. Romfrey mentioned me?’

‘He stood up and said you had been personally insulted by Dr. Shrapnel.’

Rosamund meditated in a distressing doubt of her conscientious truthfulness.

’Captain Beauchamp will be coming to me; and how can I answer him?  Heaven knows I would have shielded the poor man, if possible—­poor wretch!  Wicked though he is, one has only to hear of him suffering!  But what can I answer?  I do recollect now that Mr. Romfrey compelled me from question to question to confess that the man had vexed me.  Insulted, I never said.  At the worst, I said vexed.  I would not have said insulted, or even offended, because Mr. Romfrey . . . ah! we know him.  What I did say, I forget.  I have no guide to what I said but my present feelings, and they are pity for the unfortunate man much more than dislike.—­Well, I must go through the scene with Nevil!’ Rosamund concluded her outcry of ostensible exculpation.

She asked in a cooler moment how it was that Captain Beauchamp had so far forgotten himself as to burst out on his uncle before the guests of the house.  It appeared that he had wished his uncle to withdraw with him, and Mr. Romfrey had bidden him postpone private communications.  Rosamund gathered from one or two words of Cecilia’s that Mr. Romfrey, until finally stung by Nevil, had indulged in his best-humoured banter.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE FACE OF RENEE

Shortly before the ringing of the dinner-bell Rosamund knocked at Beauchamp’s dressing-room door, the bearer of a telegram from Bevisham.  He read it in one swift run of the eyes, and said:  ’Come in, ma’am, I have something for you.  Madame de Rouaillout sends you this.’

Rosamund saw her name written in a French hand on the back of the card.

‘You stay with us, Nevil?’

‘To-night and to-morrow, perhaps.  The danger seems to be over.’