The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

“No, not to dislike him. Dislike is always more or less associated with contempt⁠—I can see nothing in the Count to despise.” “You are not afraid of him, are you?” “Perhaps I am⁠—a little.” “Afraid of him, after his interference in our favour today!” “Yes. I am more afraid of his interference than I am of Sir Percival’s violence. Remember what I said to you in the library. Whatever you do, Laura, don’t make an enemy of the Count!” We went downstairs. Laura entered the drawing-room, while I proceeded across the hall, with my letter in my hand, to put it into the postbag, which hung against the wall opposite to me. The house door was open, and as I crossed past it, I saw Count Fosco and his wife standing talking together on the steps outside, with their faces turned towards me. The Countess came into the hall rather hastily, and asked if I had leisure enough for five minutes’ private conversation. Feeling a little surprised by such an appeal from such a person, I put my letter into the bag, and replied that I was quite at her disposal. She took my arm with unaccustomed friendliness and familiarity, and instead of leading me into an empty room, drew me out with her to the belt of turf which surrounded the large fishpond. As we passed the Count on the steps he bowed and smiled, and then went at once into the house, pushing the hall