'Good-evening to you, Lady Maulevrier,' he said in a mocking voice. 'I
shouldn't have known you if we had met anywhere else. I think, of the
two of us, you are more changed than I.'
She looked up at him, her features quivering, her haughty head drawn
back; as a bird shrinks from the gaze of a snake, recoiling, but too
fascinated to fly. Her eyes met his with a look of unutterable horror.
For some moments she was speechless, and then, looking at Lord
Hartfield, she said, piteously--
'Why did you let him come here? He ought to be taken care of--shut up.
It is Steadman's old uncle--a lunatic--I sheltered. Why is he allowed to
come to my room?'
'I am Lord Maulevrier,' said the old man, drawing himself up and
planting his crutch stick upon the floor; 'I am Lord Maulevrier, and this
woman is my wife. Yes, I am mad sometimes, but not always, I have my bad
fits, but not often. But I never forget who and what I am, Algernon,
Earl of Maulevrier, Governor of Madras.'
'Lady Maulevrier, is this horrible thing true?' cried her grandson,
vehemently.
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