I will," said Marian, not disguising her
reluctance.

"Youd rather not, of course," said Susanna, despondently.

"I am afraid I cannot be of any use to you."

"For that matter, no one is likely to be of much use to me. But it's
hard to be imprisoned in this den without anyone to speak to but Eliza.
However, do as you please. I did as I pleased; and I must take the
consequences. Just tell me one thing. Did you find me out by accident?"

"Quite."

"That was odd." Susanna groaned again as she rose from the sofa. "Well,
since you wont have anything to do with me, good-bye. Youre quite
right."

"I will come and see you. I do not wish to avoid you if you are in
trouble."

"Do," said Susanna, eagerly, touching Marian's hand with her moist palm.
"We'll get on better than you think. I like you, and I'll make you like
me. If I could only keep from it for two days, I shouldnt be a bit
disgusting. Good-night."

"Good-night," said Marian, overcoming her repugnance to Susanna's hand,
and clasping it. "Remember that my name here is Mrs. Forster."

"All right. Good-night. Thank you. You will never be sorry for having
compassion on me."

"Wont you take a light?"

"I dont require one. I can find what I want in the dark."

She went into her apartment. Marian went quickly up to her own bedroom
and locked herself in. Her first loathing for Susanna had partly given
way to pity; but the humiliation of confessing herself to such a woman
as an unfaithful wife was galling. When she went to sleep she dreamed
that she was unmarried and at home with her father, and that the
household was troubled by Susanna, who lodged in a room upstairs.

CHAPTER XX

Sholto Douglas returned to England in the ship which carried Marian's
letter to Elinor. On reaching London he stayed a night in the hotel at
Euston, and sent his man next day to take rooms for him at the West End.
Early in the afternoon the man reported that he had secured apartments
in Charles Street, St. James's. It was a fine wintry day, and Douglas
resolved to walk, not without a sense of being about to run the
gauntlet.

It proved the most adventurous walk he had ever taken in his life.
Everybody he knew seemed to be lying in wait for him. In Portland Place
he met Miss McQuinch, who, with the letter fresh in her pocket, looked
at him indignantly, and cut him. At the Laugham Hotel he passed a member
of his club, who seemed surprised, but nodded coolly. In Regent Street