She sank down slowly
into a cushioned chair, so that a beam of golden light pouring in
through the opened window set aglowing the russet tints in her dark
brown hair.
"Did you know Sir Marcus?" I asked, speaking as gently as I could.
With what intense, if hidden, emotion I awaited her answer it were
impossible to describe.
"Do you mean--"
She met my glance, and I nodded gravely.
"Oh, Jack! When did it happen?"
"Last night. But you have not told me if you knew him?" I persisted.
Isobel shook her head.
"Not in any way--intimately," she replied. "Eric"--she hesitated,
glancing up quickly and as quickly down again--"and he were not on
good terms."
"But you had met him?" I persisted; for I had detected in her manner a
reluctance to discuss Sir Marcus which I failed to understand.
"I used to meet him, Jack, when--when you were away. He came once or
twice with Eric. They were not good friends, even then. But I never
liked him. I quite lost sight of him from the time that he came into
the title--about four years ago, was it not?--until quite recently. He
had been in Russia, I think. Then he--" Again she hesitated. It was
odd how often people hesitated, as if seeking for words, when speaking
of the late baronet. "He called at the theater. Considering that he
knew of my engagement to Eric, his manner was not quite nice. But I
was anxious to prevent trouble, and did not mention the visit to Eric.
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