Maude laughed a light laugh. "This movement of theirs is putting you out
of conceit of your old love, Val."
"What movement?" he rejoined; and he would not have asked the question
had his thoughts not gone wool-gathering.
"You are dreaming, Val. The action."
"Ah, yes, to be sure."
"Have you heard yet what damages they claim?"
He shook his head. "You promised not to speak of this, Maude; even to
me."
"Who is to help speaking of it, when you allow it to take your ease away?
I never in my life saw any one so changed as you are. I wish the thing
were over and done with, though it left you a few thousand pounds the
poorer. _Will_ you accompany me to this dinner to-day? I am sick of
appearing alone and making excuses for you."
"I wish I knew what to do for the best--what my course ought to be!"
thought Hartledon within his conscience. "I can't bear to be seen with
her in public. When I face people with her on my arm, it seems as if they
must know what sort of man she, in her unconsciousness, is leaning upon."
"I'll go with you to-day, Maude, as you press it. I was to have seen Mr.
Carr, but can send down to him."
"Then don't be five minutes dressing: it is time we went."
She heard him despatch a footman to the Temple with a message that he
should not be at Mr. Carr's chambers that evening; and she lay back in
her chair, waiting for him in her dinner-dress of black and white.
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