For a moment they looked at each other. The smile on Roxmouth's face widened.
"Come, come, Maryllia!" he said, easily--"Don't be foolish! The airs of a tragedy queen do not suit you. I assure you I haven't the least objection to your amusing yourself with a parson, if you like! The conversation in the picture-gallery just now was quite idyllic--all about a cigarette and Psyche! Really it was most absurd!--and the little sermon of the enamoured clergyman to his pretty penitent was as unique as it was priggish. I'm sure you must have been vastly entertained! And the final allusion he made to his age--THAT was a masterstroke of pathos!--or bathos? Which? Du sublime au ridicule il n'y'a qu'un pas, Madame!"
Her eyes were fixed unswervingly upon him.
"So you listened!" she said.
"Naturally! One always listens to a comedy if it is played well. I've been listening all the evening. I've listened to your waif and stray, Cicely Bourne, and am perfectly willing to admit that she is worth the training you are giving her. It's the first time I've heard her sing to advantage. I've listened to Eva Beaulyon's involved explanation of a perfectly unworkable scheme for the education of country yokels (who never do anything with education when they get it), on which she is going to extract twenty thousand pounds for herself from the pockets of her newest millionaire- victim. I've listened to the Bludlip Courtenay woman's enthusiastic description of a new specific for the eradication of wrinkles and crowsfeet. I've listened to that old bore Sir Morton Pippitt, and to the afflicting county gossip of the lady in green,--Miss Ittlethwaite is her name, I believe. And, getting tired of these things, I strolled towards the picture-gallery, and hearing your delightful voice, listened there. I confess I heard more than I expected!"
Without a word in response, she turned from him and began to move away. He stretched out a hand and caught her sleeve.
"Maryllia, wait! I must speak to you--and I may as well say what I have to say now and get it over."
She paused. Lifting her eyes she glanced at him with a look of utter scorn and contempt. He laughed.
"Come out into the moonlight!"--he said--"Come and walk with me in this romantic old courtyard. It suits you, and you suit it. You are very pretty, Maryllia! May I--notwithstanding the parson--smoke?"
She said nothing. Drawing a leather case from his pocket, he took a cigar out and lit it.