The New Magdalen

Horace arrayed her in the pearls.

"Your husband puts these pearls on your neck, love," he said, proudly,

and paused to look at her. "Now," he added, with a contemptuous backward

glance at Grace, "we may go into the library. She has seen, and she has

heard."

He believed that he had silenced her. He had simply furnished her sharp

tongue with a new sting.

"_You_ will hear, and _you_ will see, when my proofs come from Canada,"

she retorted. "You will hear that your wife has stolen my name and my

character! You will see your wife dismissed from this house!"

Mercy turned on her with an uncontrollable outburst of passion.

"You are mad!" she cried.

Lady Janet caught the electric infection of anger in the air of the

room. She, too, turned on Grace. She, too, said it: "You are mad!"

Horace followed Lady Janet. _He_ was beside himself. _He_ fixed his

pitiless eyes on Grace, and echoed the contagious words: "You are mad!"

She was silenced, she was daunted at last. The treble accusation

revealed to her, for the first time, the frightful suspicion to which

she had exposed herself. She shrank back with a low cry of horror, and

struck against a chair. She would have fallen if Julian had not sprung

forward and caught her.

Lady Janet led the way into the library. She opened the

door--started--and suddenly stepped aside, so as to leave the entrance

free.

A man appeared in the open doorway.

He was not a gentleman; he was not a workman; he was not a servant. He

was vilely dressed, in glossy black broadcloth. His frockcoat hung on

him instead of fitting him. His waistcoat was too short and too tight

over the chest. His trousers were a pair of shapeless black bags.

His gloves were too large for him. His highly-polished boots creaked

detestably whenever he moved. He had odiously watchful eyes--eyes that

looked skilled in peeping through key-holes. His large ears, set forward

like the ears of a monkey, pleaded guilty to meanly listening behind

other people's doors. His manner was quietly confidential when he spoke,

impenetrably self-possessed when he was silent. A lurking air of secret

service enveloped the fellow, like an atmosphere of his own, from head

to foot. He looked all round the magnificent room without betraying

either surprise or admiration. He closely investigated every person in

it with one glance of his cunningly watchful eyes. Making his bow to

Lady Janet, he silently showed her, as his introduction, the card that

had summoned him. And then he stood at ease, self-revealed in his own

sinister identity--a police officer in plain clothes.

Nobody spoke to him. Everybody shrank inwardly as if a reptile had

crawled into the room.

He looked backward and forward, perfectly unembarrassed, between Julian

and Horace.