At this name such a fury filled Philip's heart that he could barely control himself. He breathed quickly and heavily.
"What of her?" he demanded in a low, suffocated voice. "What has Lady Winsleigh to do with it, Britta?"
"Everything!" cried Britta, though, as she glanced at his set, stern face and paling lips, she began to feel a little frightened. "She has always hated the Fröken, and been jealous of her--always! Her own maid, Louise, will tell you so--Lord Winsleigh's man, Briggs, will tell you so! They've listened at the doors, and they know all about it!" Britta made this statement with the most childlike candor. "And they've heard all sorts of wicked things--Lady Winsleigh was always talking to Sir Francis Lennox about the Fröken,--and now they've made her believe you do not care for her any more--they've been trying to make her believe everything bad of you for ever so many months--" she paused, terrified at Sir Philip's increasing pallor.
"Go on, Britta," he said quietly, though his voice sounded strange to himself. Britta gathered up all her remaining stock of courage.
"Oh dear, oh dear!" she continued desperately, "I don't understand London people at all, and I never shall understand them. Everybody seems to want to be wicked! Briggs says that Lady Winsleigh was fond of you, Sir Philip,--then, that she was fond of Sir Francis Lennox,--and yet she has a husband of her own all the time! It is so very strange!" And the little maiden's perplexity appeared to border on distraction. "They would think such a woman quite mad in Norway! But what is worse than anything is that you--you, Sir Philip,--oh! I won't believe it," and she stamped her foot passionately, "I can't believe it! . . . and yet everybody says that you go to see a dreadful, painted dancing woman at the theatre, and that you like her better than the Fröken,--it isn't true, is it?" Here she peered anxiously at her master--but he was absolutely silent. Neville made as though he would speak, but a gesture from Sir Philip's hand restrained him. Britta went on rather dispiritedly, "Anyhow, Briggs has just told me that only yesterday Lady Winsleigh went all by herself to see this actress, and that she got some letter there which she brought to the Fröken--" she recoiled suddenly with a little scream. "Oh, Sir Philip!--where are you going?"
Errington's hand came down on her shoulder, as he twisted her lightly out of his path and strode to the door.