"
After this she fell into silence, listening and watching while the two
men talked. Talk between them could never be intimate and could hardly be
even easy, but they interested one another to-day. On Quisante's face
especially there was a look of searching, of wonder, of a kind of
protest. Once he flung himself back and stared at his guest with a fixity
of gaze painful to see. But he said nothing of what was passing in his
mind. At last Marchmont turned to May again.
"I shall hear of you at Henstead," he said. "I'm going to pay the
Mildmays a visit. I suppose, as you're on the war-path, you won't come
over?"
"I might," she said, "if we were there long enough. I expect Alexander
mustn't. Friendship with the enemy is not always appreciated."
"Oh, I might go," Quisante remarked. "The Alethea's an admirable excuse."
He spoke with a laugh but then, glancing at his wife, saw her face flush.
He turned to Marchmont and found him rising to his feet. Much puzzled,
Quisante looked again from one to the other, noting the sudden constraint
that had fallen on them.
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