He reached his rooms, had some luncheon, and then in
pursuance of a previous engagement went over to the Oaks to see Mrs.
Quest.
He found her waiting for him in the drawing-room. She was standing at
the window with her hands behind her, a favourite attitude of hers. As
soon as the door was shut, she turned, came up to him, and grasped his
hand affectionately between her own.
"It is an age since I have seen you, Edward," she said, "one whole
day. Really, when I do not see you, I do not live, I only exist."
He freed himself from her clasp with a quick movement. "Really,
Belle," he said impatiently, "you might be a little more careful than
to go through that performance in front of an open window--especially
as the gardener must have seen the whole thing."
"I don't much care if he did," she said defiantly. "What does it
matter? My husband is certainly not in a position to make a fuss about
other people."
"What does it matter?" he said, stamping his foot. "What does it /not/
matter? If you have no care for your good name, do you suppose that I
am indifferent to mine?"
Mrs. Quest opened her large violet eyes to the fullest extent, and a
curious light was reflected from them.
"You have grown wonderfully cautious all of a sudden, Edward," she
said meaningly.
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