"I could not do that," Marianne said wearily. "Even if I wanted to, I would not know how to make it convincing."

Carlton's hand, resting on his knee, clenched into a fist, as if he were trying to keep it from making a gesture foreign to his will.

"Something must be decided before the day comes," he said. "I cannot – I will not! – endure a repetition of what happened the last time."

"Which of the doctor's theories do you follow?" Marianne asked. "No doubt you have decided, despite the evidence of your own eyes – and hands – that I was responsible after all."

She thought Carlton flushed faintly at the reference to his fumbling at her skirt, but in the dim light it was hard to tell. Certainly his voice held no trace of embarrassment as he replied, "I have as yet reached no conclusion. But I am working on the problem, make no mistake about that."

Marianne was tempted to tell him about her nocturnal visit from Henry. However, it seemed unworthy to try to lift suspicion from herself by casting it on another. Besides, she had given her word not to tell.

Carlton said no more, and when they reached the castle he went off with only a brusque nod of farewell. Marianne went up to change her damp shoes. When she opened her door the first thing she saw was Henry, comfortably curled up in a chair by the fire.

"You were a very long time," he remarked. "I've been waiting for hours."

"You have no business being here at all," Marianne replied. "I thought I told you never to come into without knocking."

"I did knock."

Marianne could not help laughing. "Then let me amend my statement. You must not come in unless I answer your knock."

"I'm sorry." The apology, which she had not expected, and the ingratiating tone, warned Marianne not to pursue the lecture. "You said you would play something with me," Henry went on.

"Yes, but this is Sunday."

"Please. You said you would."

Marianne's childhood was not so far in the past. She could well remember the appalling dullness of Sunday afternoons, after Mrs. Jay had taken over her education. She could also remember the squire's foul temper on the mornings after all-night drinking sessions with his cronies, and she imagined that Victor was in no state to be useful to his pupil – assuming, of course, that the boy's account of his tutor's Saturday-night amusements was correct.

After all, she told herself recklessly, I am probably doomed to Hell anyway. What does one more small sin matter?

"Very well. Wait outside for me while I change."

Henry obeyed so promptly and with such a beaming face that she realized what a nice boy he could be, under the right circumstances. She put on her oldest gown, suspecting it would probably sustain some damage.

The dress was certainly not improved by the activities of the succeeding hours. First she was taken to admire Henry's new velocipede, which he was allowed to ride indoors on wet days. The old castle had plenty of abandoned corridors suitable to this exercise, and it amused Marianne to think how shocked the former dukes would have been to see the boy racing at full speed along the passages where they had paced in solemn dignity. She even took a turn on the velocipede herself, with Henry shouting encouragement.

"I really think," she said, dismounting, "that I had better go and see if the Duchess needs me for anything."

"Oh, not yet!" Henry snatched her hand. "There are lots of things we haven't played. I want to show you my room."

Marianne was unable to resist his shining face. Besides, she was enjoying herself.

They climbed the endless flights of stairs that led to the upper regions, where the young were tucked away in the pious hope that they would be neither seen nor heard. It occurred to Marianne that M. Victor's room must be near that of his pupil. She hoped she would not see him. She did not mean to let the fear of such a meeting deter her, however; after all, she was the injured party.

Henry showed off his rooms with pardonable pride. They contained every comfort, and most of the luxuries, that money could provide. The night nursery was a cozy little chamber with a quaint turreted roof, hung all around with tapestries to keep off the chill. The former day nursery, which Henry preferred to call his schoolroom, had a pair of desks and a bookcase in one corner, but playroom might have been a better term, for the rest of the long, lofty chamber was crowded with an assortment of expensive toys, including the latest mechanical windup trains and fire engines. A huge wooden Noah's Ark contained almost as many pairs of animals as the original must have done; and Marianne was child enough to be enchanted with a large toy theater with curtains of real red velvet and enough wooden figures for an entire repertoire of Shakespeare. She wanted to play with this, but Henry dragged out boxes of lead soldiers and proposed a battle. They were in the middle of the last charge at Waterloo (Marianne, of course, had to take the French side) and she was so absorbed in avoiding Wellington's assault that she failed to hear the door open. Looking up through her tumbled hair she saw M. Victor.

Marianne scrambled to her feet. Victor stepped forward to offer his hand; she ignored it. The smile faded from the tutor's face, to be replaced by a singularly ugly look Marianne wondered how she could ever have thought him pleasant or amusing. He showed all the signs of the dissipation Henry had accused him of: sunken eyes, pasty complexion, and a perceptible tremor in the hand he now withdrew.

"What do you want?" Henry demanded. "We are busy. Go away."

"I am sorry to interrupt Your Grace in such an edifying Sunday activity," said Victor, with a sneer. "But Miss Ransom is wanted."

"I want her!"

"Sure, and you'll not be the only one! I was referring," Victor explained, smirking at Marianne, "to her noble Grace. Now you can't be letting her wait, can you?"

"Certainly not," Marianne said coldly. "Henry, I have enjoyed this. Tomorrow, after your lessons, perhaps we can finish the battle. This time the French may win after all!"

Henry's sulky look was replaced by a smile. "No, they won't."

"We shall see. Thank you for letting me come."

She walked straight toward Victor, whose outstretched arm barred the door. At the last possible moment he stepped aside and followed her out into the hall.

"Will you not wait a tiny little minute? It's wanting to speak with you I am."

"I have nothing to say to you," Marianne snapped, continuing on her way.

"Have you not then? Yet we could be the best of friends, I'm thinking; having so much in common, one might say."

Trotting along beside her he put out his hand with what he obviously believed to be an ingratiating smile.

"We have nothing whatever in common," Marianne replied. "And as for being friends, that is not only ludicrous, it is insulting. I warn you" – as he seemed to be about to take her by the arm – "if you touch me I will complain at once, not to Her Grace, who must not be troubled with such things, but to Mr. Carlton. He will see that you are dismissed, and possibly thrashed."

Victor looked as if he might have said more, but Marianne did not wait to hear it. Increasing her pace, she went on as rapidly as she could. The tutor did not follow.

Once she was out of sight, she paused for a few moments to compose herself, since she did not want the Duchess to ask the cause of her flushed lace. She was half tempted to carry out her threat of telling Carlton. Surely the tutor was not the right person to be in charge of a boy like Henry. Yet she hesitated to complain of him. It seemed so mean-spirited.

When she reached the Duchess's room she found Dr. Gruffstone pacing along the corridor, glancing impatiently at his watch.

"Is something wrong?" Marianne asked. "I came as soon as I could."