Thus, while she chattered eloquently to Sir Tedbury Delvine, her keen brain was weighing things.

John Derringham had certainly had a look of aroused passion in his eyes when he had pressed her hand in a lingered good night; he had even said some words of a more advanced insinuation as to his intentions towards her than he had ever done before.

They were never exact--always some fugitive hint to which afterwards she would try to fix some meaning as she reviewed their meetings.

She had not seen him at breakfast because she never came down in the morning until eleven or twelve, and he had already gone out, she heard, when she did descend.
It followed then that either he had received some disturbing letter by the post--only one on Good Friday--or something had occurred during his visit to his old master.

It would be her business to find out which of these two things it was.