But she won't confess; red-hot pincers would not drag a secret
from her, if she meant to keep it. I doubt if she will even betray
herself by a blush. Poor Constance! What chance had she against such a
Machiavel in petticoats? I am bad at diplomacy, too. If I only had the
slightest proof, or if she had any weak point--unless she loses her head
when she hears where Guy is gone, I have no chance of finding out much
in that quarter. There's Willis, to be sure--she bribed him, no doubt.
D--n them both!" In this complimentary and charitable mood, he went
straight to Flora Bellasys.
He found her alone. She was sitting in her riding-dress, and the broad
Spanish hat, with its curling plumes, lay close beside her, with the
gauntlets and whip across it.
She did not much like Mohun, for she had an idea that his sarcasms, with
her for their object, had made Guy smile more than once approvingly. She
knew, too, that all her fascinations recoiled harmlessly from that
rugged block of ironstone. Whatever he might have been in early years,
he was harder of heart than stout Sir Artegall now. Radigund, unhelming
her lovely face, would never have tempted him to forego his advantage
and throw his weapons down.
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