There was another pause; she did not know whether to remain or stay;
but, as he had taken up the draft catalogue, she paused, standing by the
table and waiting to see if he would speak to her again.
"Do you not feel lonely here?" he asked.
"Oh, no," she replied, promptly. "Not the very least. There is Mrs.
Dexter, and the books and----" She laid her hand on the head of Roddy,
who strolled in at the moment, and, after wagging his tail in response
to her caress, moved slowly to the Marquess and thrust a wet, cold nose
against the long, thin hand. "Besides, I made an acquaintance this
afternoon; a lady, a dear old lady, Lady Gridborough, at Lensmore
Grange, you know."
"Yes, I know," he remarked, with a nod. "That is well. She is a good
soul. Warm-hearted, but eccentric. By the way, the house will not be so
dull presently; for my son, Lord Heyton, and his newly-married wife are
coming to stay."
As he made the announcement, he checked a sigh and turned away. Celia
waited for a moment or two; the Marquess had sunk into a chair, his eyes
fixed on the great dog, which had thrown itself at his feet. It seemed
to Celia that his lordship had forgotten her.
"Good night, my lord," she said, softly.
He looked up with a start, rose, and opened the door for her, and, with
a courtly inclination of the head, bade her good night.
Now a strange thing happened. As Celia was crossing the hall, she
stopped and looked at the portrait before which the Marquess had been
standing; and she remembered how she had been struck by a fancied
resemblance to someone whom she could not trace. Her pause before the
picture was scarcely more than momentary, but she was startled by the
sound of footsteps, and, looking up with a half-frightened gaze, found
the Marquess standing beside her. His face was almost stern, his dark
eyes, so like those of the picture, were fixed on her, questioningly;
and there was just a suspicion of anger in the keenness of his regard.
"You are interested in that picture?" he said, in a dry voice.
"I--I----Yes," said Celia, telling herself that she had no cause for
fear, seeing that she had committed no crime.
"Why?" he demanded, curtly, and his tone was still dry and harsh.
Celia was silent for a moment; then she raised her eyes to his,
calmly--for what was there to fear, why should he be angry with her for
looking at the portrait?