Both looked at Meredith, who had walked to a distant window and was standing there looking out upon the square. Lady Henry was well aware that he had not forgiven her, and, to tell the truth, was rather anxious that he should. So she, too, dropped her voice.
“I bow to the institutions of my country,” she said, a little sparkle in the strong, gray eye.
“In other words, you forgive a duchess?”
“I acknowledge the head of the family, and the greater carries the less.”
“Suppose Jacob should be unforgiving?”
“He hasn’t the spirit.”
“And she?”
“Her conscience will be on my side.”
“I thought it was your theory that she had none?”
“Jacob, let us hope, will have developed some. He has a good deal to spare.”
Sir Wilfrid laughed. “So it is you who will do the pardoning?”
“I shall offer an armed and honorable peace. The Duchess of Chudleigh may intrigue and tell lies, if she pleases. I am not giving her a hundred a year.”
There was a pause.
“Why, if I may ask,” said Sir Wilfrid, at the end of it, “did you quarrel with Jacob? I understand there was a separate cause.”
Lady Henry hesitated.
“He paid me a debt,” she said, at last, and a sudden flush rose in her old, blanched cheek.
“And that annoyed you? You have the oddest code!”
Lady Henry bit her lip.
“One does not like one’s money thrown in one’s face.”
“Most unreasonable of women!”
“Never mind, Wilfrid. We all have our feelings.”
“Precisely. Well, no doubt Jacob will make peace. As for—Ah, here comes Montresor!”
A visible tremor passed through Lady Henry. The door was thrown open, and the footman announced the Minister for War.
“Her grace, sir, is not yet returned.”
Montresor stumbled into the room, and even with his eyeglasses carefully adjusted, did not at once perceive who was in it.
Sir Wilfrid went towards him.
“Ah, Bury! Convalescent, I hope?”
“Quite. The Duchess has gone to meet Mrs. Delafield.”
“Mrs.—?” Montresor’s mouth opened. “But, of course, you know?”
“Oh yes, I know. But one’s tongue has to get oiled. You see Lady Henry?”
Montresor started.
“I am glad to see Lady Henry,” he replied, stiffly.
Lady Henry slowly rose and advanced two steps. She quietly held out her hand to him, and, smiling, looked him in the face.
“Take it. There is no longer any cause of quarrel between us. I raise the embargo.”
The Minister took the hand, and shook his head.
“Ah, but you had no right to impose it,” he said, with energy.
“Oh, for goodness sake, meet me halfway,” cried Lady Henry, “or I shall never hold out!”
Sir Wilfrid, whose half-embarrassed gaze was bent on the ground, looked up and was certain that he saw a gleam of moisture in those wrinkled eyes.
“Why have you held out so long? What does it matter to me whether Miss Julie be a duchess or no? That doesn’t make up to me for all the months you’ve shut your door on me. And I was always given to understand, by-the-way, that it wouldn’t matter to you.”
“I’ve had three months at Torquay,” said Lady Henry, raising her shoulders.
“I hope it was dull to distraction.”
“It was. And my doctor tells me the more I fret the more gout I may expect.”
“So all this is not generosity, but health?”
“Kiss my hand, sir, and have done with it! You are all avenged. At Torquay I had four companions in seven weeks.”
“More power to them!” said Montresor. “Meredith, come here. Shall we accept the pleas?”
Meredith came slowly from the window, his hands behind his back.
“Lady Henry commands and we obey,” he said, slowly. “But today begins a new world—founded in ruin, like the rest of them.”
He raised his fine eyes, in which there was no laughter, rather a dreamy intensity. Lady Henry shrank.
“If you’re thinking of Chudleigh,” she said, uncertainly, “be glad for him. It was release. As for Henry Warkworth—”
“Ah, poor fellow!” said Montresor, perfunctorily. “Poor fellow!”
He had dropped Lady Henry’s hand, but he now recaptured it, enclosing the thin, jewelled fingers in his own.
“Well, well, then it’s peace, with all my heart.” He stooped and lightly kissed the fingers. “And now, when do you expect our friend?”
“At any moment,” said Lady Henry.
She seated herself, and Montresor beside her.
“I am told,” said Montresor, “that this horror will not only affect Delafield personally, but that he will regard the dukedom as a calamity.”
“Hm!—and you believe it?” said Lady Henry.
“I try to,” was the Minister’s laughing reply. “Ah, surely, here they are!”
Meredith turned from the window, to which he had gone back.
“The carriage has just arrived,” he announced, and he stood fidgeting, standing first on one foot, then on the other, and running his hand through his mane of gray hair. His large features were pale, and any close observer would have detected the quiver of emotion.
A sound of voices from the anteroom, the Duchess’s light tones floating to the top. At the same time a door on the other side of the drawing-room opened and the Duke of Crowborough appeared.
“I think I hear my wife,” he said, as he greeted Montresor and hurriedly crossed the room.
There was a rustle of quick steps, and the little Duchess entered.
“Freddie, here is Julie!”
Behind appeared a tall figure in black. Everybody in the room advanced, including Lady Henry, who, however, after a few steps stood still behind the others, leaning on her stick.
Julie looked round the little circle, then at the Duke of Crowborough, who had gravely given her his hand. The suppressed excitement already in the room clearly communicated itself to her. She did not lose her self-command for an instant, but her face pleaded.
“Is it really true? Perhaps there is some mistake?”
“I fear there can be none,” said the Duke, sadly. “Poor Chudleigh had been long dead when they found him.”
“Freddie,” said the Duchess, interrupting, “I have told Greswell we shall want the carriage at half-past nine for Euston. Will that do?”
“Perfectly.”
Greswell, the handsome groom of the chambers, approached Julie.
“Your grace’s maid wishes to know whether it
