‘You don’t mind, do you, that I’m going away?’ she asked wistfully, looking up into his face.

But his face was inscrutable, under the heavy brows. He kept it quite blank.

‘You do as you wish,’ he said.

And he spoke in good English.

‘But I won’t go if you don’t wish it,’ she said, clinging to him.

There was silence. He leaned and put another piece of wood on the fire. The flame glowed on his silent, abstracted face. She waited, but he said nothing.

‘Only I thought it would be a good way to begin a break with Clifford. I do want a child. And it would give me a chance to, to—,’ she resumed.

‘To let them think a few lies,’ he said.

‘Yes, that among other things. Do you want them to think the truth?’

‘I don’t care what they think.’

‘I do! I don’t want them handling me with their unpleasant cold minds, not while I’m still at Wragby. They can think what they like when I’m finally gone.’

He was silent.

‘But Sir Clifford expects you to come back to him?’

‘Oh, I must come back,’ she said: and there was silence.

‘And would you have a child in Wragby?’ he asked.

She closed her arm round his neck.

‘If you wouldn’t take me away, I should have to,’ she said.

‘Take you where to?’

‘Anywhere! away! But right away from Wragby.’

‘When?’

‘Why, when I come back.’

‘But what’s the good of coming back, doing the thing twice, if you’re once gone?’ he said.

‘Oh, I must come back. I’ve promised! I’ve promised so faithfully. Besides, I come back to you, really.’

‘To your husband’s game–keeper?’

‘I don’t see that that matters,’ she said.

‘No?’ He mused a while. ‘And when would you think of going away again, then; finally? When exactly?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I’d come back from Venice. And then we’d prepare everything.’

‘How prepare?’

‘Oh, I’d tell Clifford. I’d have to tell him.’

‘Would you!’

He remained silent. She put her arms round his neck.

‘Don’t make it difficult for me,’ she pleaded.

‘Make what difficult?’

‘For me to go to Venice and arrange things.’

A little smile, half a grin, flickered on his face.

‘I don’t make it difficult,’ he said. ‘I only want to find out just what you are after. But you don’t really know yourself. You want to take time: get away and look at it. I don’t blame you. I think you’re wise. You may prefer to stay mistress of Wragby. I don’t blame you. I’ve no Wragbys to offer. In fact, you know what you’ll get out of me. No, no, I think you’re right! I really do! And I’m not keen on coming to live on you, being kept by you. There’s that too.’