As Celia undressed slowly, going over the scene that had taken place in
the hall below, recalling the changes in the Marquess's expressive face,
his strange manner, with its suggestion of anger and impatience, she
sought in vain for an explanation. Had he actually been annoyed and
irritated by her admission that she had noticed a resemblance in the
portrait of his dead brother to someone whom she had met? He had said,
emphatically, that it was only a fancied resemblance, and she accepted
his decision. It certainly could be only a freak of imagination on her
part, seeing that the Marquess's brother had not married--indeed, it was
ridiculous to suppose that there was any connection between the noble
family of the Sutcombes and the unknown man in the poverty-stricken room
at Brown's Buildings. Woman-like, her mind dwelt more on him than on the
Marquess's impatience and annoyance. There was something strange,
mysterious, in the fact that, not only was she haunted by the memory of
the young man, but that here, at Thexford Hall, she should fancy a
portrait of one of the family resembled him.
It did not need much to recall him to her mind; for it may be said that
in no idle moment of hers was her mind free of him. Now she asked
herself, for the hundredth time, not only what had become of him, but
what was her duty to him. She had not tried to find him, had not
endeavoured to communicate with him. At the moment it occurred to her
that she might have inserted a carefully-guarded advertisement in the
Personal column of one or more of the newspapers, and she felt ashamed
that the thought had not struck her before. She almost, but not quite,
decided to insert such an advertisement at once; but, as she pondered,
she questioned the wisdom of such an action. Her mind swung, like a
pendulum, from one side to the other, and at last she fell asleep, still
undecided, but still thinking of him.
The next morning she went out with Roddy for her usual before-breakfast
run. It seemed that the Marquess also was an early riser; for she saw
his figure, pacing one of the walks, his eyes fixed on the ground. She
was going in his direction, and Roddy, catching sight of him, bounded
towards him. The Marquess saw her, raised his hat, and turned. It seemed
to Celia that he wished to avoid her, and she went on her way--the dog
returning to her--and re-entered the house. She did not know whether to
expect a visit in the library from the Marquess; and every now and then,
when she heard his footstep or his voice, she paused in her work with
something like apprehension. But he did not come. In the afternoon he
went out in the motor, and presently Mrs. Dexter came into the library.