Pruyn; but the old man settled himself in his chair
again, with no intention of quitting the field. Derek, too, entered on
the task of dislodging him, but without success. Nursing his knee, and
peering at Marion with bulgy, short-sighted eyes, the banker kept her
answering questions as to Mrs. Bayford's health, blind to her obvious
nervousness and distress.

The cousins exchanged baffled, impatient glances, while Lucilla managed
to say in an undertone: "Take Marion to the drawing-room. We'll never
get him to go."

Derek was about to comply with this suggestion, when the footman threw
open the library door again. For a moment no one appeared, though a
sound of smothered voices from the hall caused the four within the room
to sit in strangely aroused expectancy.

"No, no; I can't go in," came a woman's whispered protest. "You can do
it without me."

"You must!" was the man's response; and a second later Bienville was on
the threshold, standing aside as Diane Eveleth entered.

Derek sprang to his feet, but, as if petrified by a sense of his own
impotence, stood still. Miss Lucilla, with the instincts of the hostess
awake, even in these strange conditions, went forward, with her hand
half outstretched and the words "Monsieur de Bienville" on her lips. The
old banker rose, and, taking Diane's hand, drew it within his arm in a
protecting way for which she was grateful, while she suffered him to
lead her some few steps apart. Marion Grimston alone, seated in a
distant corner, did not move. With her arm resting on a small table, she
watched the rapidly enacted scene with the detachment of a spectator
looking at a play. She had thrown back her black veil over her hat, and
against the dark background her face had the grave, marble whiteness of
classic features in stone.

During the minute of interrogatory silence that ensued, Bienville, with
quick reversion to the habits of the drawing-room, was able to
re-establish his self-control. With his hat, his gloves, and his stick,
he had that air of the casual visitor which helped to give him back the
sensation of having his feet on accustomed ground.

"I must beg your pardon, Miss van Tromp, for disturbing you," he said,
addressing himself to Miss Lucilla, who stood in the foreground. "I
shouldn't have done so if I hadn't something of great importance to
say."

His voice was so calm that Miss Lucilla could not do otherwise than
reply in the same vein of commonplace formality.