Mademoiselle will feel an interest in that; it is her
birth-place," interrupted Marston, glancing at the Frenchwoman. "Yes--Rouen--ah--yes!" said mademoiselle, with very evident
embarrassment. Sir Wynston appeared for a moment a little disconcerted too, but
rallied speedily, and pursued his detail of his doings at that fair town
of Normandy. Marston knew Sir Wynston well; and he rightly calculated that whatever
effect his experience of the world might have had in intensifying his
selfishness or hardening his heart, it certainly could have had none in
improving a character originally worthless and unfeeling. He knew,
moreover, that his wealthy cousin was gifted with a great deal of that
small cunning which is available for masking the little scheming of
frivolous and worldly men; and that Sir Wynston never took trouble of any
kind without a sufficient purpose, having its center in his own personal
gratification. This visit greatly puzzled Marston; it gave him even a vague sense of
uneasiness. Could there exist any flaw in his own title to the estate of
Gray Forest? He had an unpleasant, doubtful sort of remembrance of some
apprehensions of this kind, when he was but a child, having been
whispered in the family. Could this really be so, and could the
baronet have been led to make this unexpected visit merely for the
purpose of personally examining into the condition or a property of
which he was about to become the legal invader? The nature of this
suspicion affords, at all events, a fair gauge of Marston's estimate
of his cousin's character. And as he revolved these doubts from time to
time, and as he thought of Mademoiselle de Barras's transient, but
unaccountable embarrassment at the mention of Rouen by Sir Wynston--an
embarrassment which the baronet himself appeared for a moment to
reciprocate--undefined, glimmering suspicions of another kind flickered
through the darkness of his mind. He was effectually puzzled; his
surmises and conjectures baffled; and he more than half repented that he
had acceded to his cousin's proposal, and admitted him as an inmate of
his house. Although Sir Wynston comported himself as if he were conscious of being
the very most welcome visitor who could possibly have established himself
at Gray Forest, he was, doubtless, fully aware of the real feelings with
which he was regarded by his host. If he had in reality an object in
prolonging his stay, and wished to make the postponement of his departure
the direct interest of his entertainer, he unquestionably took effectual
measures for that purpose. The little party broke up every evening at about ten o'clock, and Sir
Wynston retired to his chamber at the same hour. He found little
difficulty in inducing Marston to amuse him there with a quiet game of
piquet. In his own room, therefore, in the luxurious ease of dressing
gown and slippers he sat at cards with his host, often until an hour or
two past midnight. Sir Wynston was exorbitantly wealthy, and very
reckless in expenditure. The stakes for which they played, although they
gradually became in reality pretty heavy, were in his eyes a very
unimportant consideration. Marston, on the other hand, was poor, and
played with the eye of a lynx and the appetite of a shark. The ease and
perfect good-humor with which Sir Wynston lost were not unimproved by his
entertainer, who, as may readily be supposed, was not sorry to reap this
golden harvest, provided without the slightest sacrifice, on his part, of
pride or independence. If, indeed, he sometimes suspected that his guest
was a little more anxious to lose than to win, he was also quite resolved
not to perceive it, but calmly persisted in, night after night, giving
Sir Wynston, as he termed it, his revenge; or, in other words, treating
him to a repetition of his losses. All this was very agreeable to
Marston, who began to treat his visitor with, at all events, more
external cordiality and distinction than at first. An incident, however, occurred, which disturbed these amicable relations
in an unexpected way. It becomes necessary here to mention that
Mademoiselle de Barras's sleeping apartment opened from a long corridor. It was en suite with two dressing rooms, each opening also upon the
corridor, but wholly unused and unfurnished. Some five or six other
apartments also opened at either side, upon the same passage. These
little local details being premised, it so happened that one day Marston,
who had gone out with the intention of angling in the trout-stream which
flowed through his park, though at a considerable distance from the
house, having unexpectedly returned to procure some tackle which he had
forgotten, was walking briskly through the corridor in question to his
own apartment, when, to his surprise, the door of one of the deserted
dressing-rooms, of which we have spoken, was cautiously pushed open, and
Sir Wynston Berkley issued from it. Marston was almost beside him as he
did so, and Sir Wynston made a motion as if about instinctively to draw
back again, and at the same time the keen ear of his host distinctly
caught the sound of rustling silks and a tiptoe tread hastily withdrawing
from the deserted chamber. Sir Wynston looked nearly as much confused as
a man of the world can look. Marston stopped short, and scanned his
visitor for a moment with a very peculiar expression. "You have caught me peeping, Dick. I am an inveterate explorer," said the
baronet, with an effectual effort to shake off his embarrassment. "An
open door in a fine old house is a temptation which--"

"That door is usually closed, and ought to be kept so," interrupted
Marston, drily; "there is nothing whatever to be seen in the room but
dust and cobwebs." "Pardon me," said Sir Wynston, more easily, "you forget the view from
the window." "Aye, the view, to be sure; there is a good view from it," said Marston,
with as much of his usual manner as he could resume so soon; and, at the
same time, carelessly opening the door again, he walked in, accompanied
by Sir Wynston, and both stood at the window together, looking out in
silence upon a prospect which neither of them saw. "Yes, I do think it is a good view," said Marston; and as he turned
carelessly away, he darted a swift glance round the chamber. The door
opening toward the French lady's apartment was closed, but not actually
shut. This was enough; and as they left the room, Marston repeated his
invitation to his guest to accompany him; but in a tone which showed that
he scarcely followed the meaning of what he himself was saying. He walked undecidedly toward his own room, then turned and went down
stairs. In the hall he met his pretty child. "Ha! Rhoda," said he, "you have not been out today?" "No, papa; but it is so very fine, I think I shall go now." "Yes; go, and mademoiselle can accompany you. Do you hear, Rhoda,
mademoiselle goes with you, and you had better go at once."