The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

elbow on the folded parchment, and his head resting on his clenched fist. The Count stood between us⁠—master of the dreadful position in which we were placed, as he was master of everything else. “Lady Glyde,” he said, with a gentleness which seemed to address itself to our forlorn situation instead of to ourselves, “pray pardon me if I venture to offer one suggestion, and pray believe that I speak out of my profound respect and my friendly regard for the mistress of this house.” He turned sharply towards Sir Percival. “Is it absolutely necessary,” he asked, “that this thing here, under your elbow, should be signed today?” “It is necessary to my plans and wishes,” returned the other sulkily. “But that consideration, as you may have noticed, has no influence with Lady Glyde.” “Answer my plain question plainly. Can the business of the signature be put off till tomorrow⁠—Yes or No?” “Yes, if you will have it so.” “Then what are you wasting your time for here? Let the signature wait till tomorrow⁠—let it wait till you come back.” Sir Percival looked up with a frown and an oath. “You are taking a tone with me that I don’t like,” he said. “A tone I won’t bear from any man.” “I am advising you for your good,” returned the Count, with a smile of quiet contempt. “Give yourself time⁠—give Lady Glyde time. Have you forgotten that your dogcart is