er
her sense of impending calamity; a draught of misfortune seemed to blow
through the house; it chilled her feet under her chair. The letter she
had in her head went out like a flame in the wind and her only thought
now was to telegraph to Selina the first thing in the morning, in quite
different words. She scarcely spoke to Miss Steet and there was very
little the governess could say to her: she had already related her
history so often. After dinner she carried her companion into the
drawing-room, by the arm, and they sat down to the piano together. They
played duets for an hour, mechanically, violently; Laura had no idea
what the music was--she only knew that their playing was execrable. In
spite of this--'That's a very nice thing, that last,' she heard a vague
voice say, behind her, at the end; and she became aware that her
brother-in-law had joined them again.

Miss Steet was pusillanimous--she retreated on the spot, though Lionel
had already forgotten that he was angry at the scandalous way she had
carried off the children from the schoolroom. Laura would have gone too
if Lionel had not told her that he had something very particular to say
to her. That made her want to go more, but she had to listen to him when
he expressed the hope that she hadn't taken offence at anything he had
said before. He didn't strike her as tipsy now; he had slept it off or
got rid of it and she saw no traces of his headache. He was still
conspicuously cheerful, as if he had got some good news and were very
much encouraged. She knew the news he had got and she might have
thought, in view of his manner, that it could not really have seemed to
him so bad as he had pretended to think it. It was not the first time
however that she had seen him pleased that he had a case against his
wife, and she was to learn on this occasion how extreme a satisfaction
he could take in his wrongs. She would not sit down again; she only
lingered by the fire, pretending to warm her feet, and he walked to and
fro in the long room, where the lamp-light to-night was limited,
stepping on certain figures of the carpet as if his triumph were alloyed
with hesitation.

'I never know how to talk to you--you are so beastly clever,' he said.
'I can't treat you like a little girl in a pinafore--and yet of course
you are only a young lady. You're so deuced good--that makes it worse,'
he went on, stopping in front of her with his hands in his pockets and
the air he himself