"One moment!" interposed the Count before Sir Percival could speak again--"one moment, Lady Glyde, I implore you!"
Laura would have left the room without noticing him, but I stopped her.
"Don't make an enemy of the Count!" I whispered. "Whatever you do, don't make an enemy of the Count!"
She yielded to me. I closed the door again, and we stood near it waiting. Sir Percival sat down at the table, with his elbow on the folded parchment, and his head resting on his clenched fist. The Count stood between us--master of the dreadful position in which we were placed, as he was master of everything else.
"Lady Glyde," he said, with a gentleness which seemed to address itself to our forlorn situation instead of to ourselves, "pray pardon me if I venture to offer one suggestion, and pray believe that I speak out of my profound respect and my friendly regard for the mistress of this house." He turned sharply towards Sir Percival. "Is it absolutely necessary," he asked "that this thing here, under your elbow, should be signed to-day?"
"It is necessary to my plans and wishes," returned the other sulkily. "But that consideration, as you may have noticed, has no influence with Lady Glyde."
"Answer my plain question plainly. Can the business of the signature be put off till to-morrow--Yes or No?"
"Yes, if you will have it so."
"Then what are you wasting your time for here? Let the signature wait till to-morrow--let it wait till you come back."
Sir Percival looked up with a frown and an oath.
"You are taking a tone with me that I don't like," he said. "A tone I won't bear from any man."
"I am advising you for your good," returned the Count, with a smile of quiet contempt. "Give yourself time--give Lady Glyde time. Have you forgotten that your dog-cart is waiting at the door? My tone surprises you--ha? I dare say it does--it is the tone of a man who can keep his temper. How many doses of good advice have I given you in my time? More than you can count. Have I ever been wrong? I defy you to quote me an instance of it. Go! take your drive. The matter of the signature can wait till to-morrow. Let it wait--and renew it when you come back."
Sir Percival hesitated and looked at his watch. His anxiety about the secret journey which he was to take that day, revived by the Count's words, was now evidently disputing possession of his mind with his anxiety to obtain Laura's signature. He considered for a little while, and then got up from his chair.