Mrs. Ferrari's watery grey eyes brightened suddenly; Mrs. Ferrari's dull drab-coloured complexion became enlivened by a glow of brilliant red.
'It's false!' she cried. 'It's a burning shame to speak of my husband in that way!'
'I told you I should offend you!' said Mr. Troy.
Agnes interposed once more--in the interests of peace. She took the offended wife's hand; she appealed to the lawyer to reconsider that side of his theory which reflected harshly on Ferrari.
While she was still speaking, the servant interrupted her by entering the room with a visiting-card. It was the card of Henry Westwick;and there was an ominous request written on it in pencil.
'I bring bad news. Let me see you for a minute downstairs.'
Agnes immediately left the room.
Alone with Mrs. Ferrari, Mr. Troy permitted his natural kindness of heart to show itself on the surface at last. He tried to make his peace with the courier's wife.
'You have every claim, my good soul, to resent a reflection cast upon your husband,' he began. 'I may even say that I respect you for speaking so warmly in his defence. At the same time, remember, that I am bound, in such a serious matter as this, to tell you what is really in my mind.
I can have no intention of offending you, seeing that I am a total stranger to you and to Mr. Ferrari. A thousand pounds is a large sum of money; and a poor man may excusably be tempted by it to do nothing worse than to keep out of the way for a while.
My only interest, acting on your behalf, is to get at the truth.
If you will give me time, I see no reason to despair of finding your husband yet.'
Ferrari's wife listened, without being convinced: her narrow little mind, filled to its extreme capacity by her unfavourable opinion of Mr. Troy, had no room left for the process of correcting its first impression.
'I am much obliged to you, sir,' was all she said. Her eyes were more communicative--her eyes added, in their language, 'You may say what you please; I will never forgive you to my dying day.'
Mr. Troy gave it up. He composedly wheeled his chair around, put his hands in his pockets, and looked out of window.
After an interval of silence, the drawing-room door was opened.
Mr. Troy wheeled round again briskly to the table, expecting to see Agnes.
To his surprise there appeared, in her place, a perfect stranger to him--a gentleman, in the prime of life, with a marked expression of pain and embarrassment on his handsome face. He looked at Mr. Troy, and bowed gravely.
'I am so unfortunate as to have brought news to Miss Agnes Lockwood which has greatly distressed her,' he said. 'She has retired to her room.
I am requested to make her excuses, and to speak to you in her place.'
Having introduced himself in those terms, he noticed Mrs. Ferrari, and held out his hand to her kindly. 'It is some years since we last met, Emily,' he said. 'I am afraid you have almost forgotten the "Master Henry" of old times.' Emily, in some little confusion, made her acknowledgments, and begged to know if she could be of any use to Miss Lockwood. 'The old nurse is with her,' Henry answered;'they will be better left together.' He turned once more to Mr. Troy.
'I ought to tell you,' he said, 'that my name is Henry Westwick. I am the younger brother of the late Lord Montbarry.'
'The late Lord Montbarry!' Mr. Troy exclaimed.
'My brother died at Venice yesterday evening. There is the telegram.'
With that startling answer, he handed the paper to Mr. Troy.
The message was in these words:
'Lady Montbarry, Venice. To Stephen Robert Westwick, Newbury's Hotel, London. It is useless to take the journey.
Lord Montbarry died of bronchitis, at 8.40 this evening.
All needful details by post.'
'Was this expected, sir?' the lawyer asked.
