Indeed, Hermione could not leave the topic alone.

She forbade it, rejected it, stormed at its folly, yet came back to it like a child held spellbound by some terrifying yet fascinating object.
The maid was racking her brain for some feminine argument which should convince an impulsive mistress that Curtis might reasonably regard his matrimonial entanglement as by no means so incapable of a satisfactory outcome as his "wife" deemed it, when a knock at the door of the sitting-room alarmed both.
And, indeed, the ever-present dread which haunted them was justified, because a page announced "The Earl of Valletort and Mr.Otto Schmidt," and before the petrified Marcelle could utter a word of protest, the two men were in the room.
Marcelle said afterwards that no incident of those tumultuous hours surprised her more than the way in which Lady Hermione received her unbidden and unwelcome visitors.

The instant before their arrival she was an irresponsible and doubting and vacillating girl, torn by emotion, and swayed hither and thither by gusts of perplexity which ranged from half-formed hope to blank despair, but now she came from her bedroom without a second's hesitancy, and faced her father and the lawyer with a proud serenity which obviously disconcerted them, and quite dumfounded Marcelle.
"Ah! At last!" said the Earl, trying to speak complacently, but failing rather badly, because his attitude and words were decidedly melodramatic.
"And too late!" said his daughter, letting her fine eyes dwell on Schmidt with the contemplative scrutiny she might bestow on an exhibit in a natural history museum.
"Pardon me, your ladyship, not too late, but just in time, I fancy." Otto Schmidt met her gaze without flinching, and he was a man who undoubtedly commanded attention when he spoke.

His tone was deferential but decisive.

His black eyes were taking in this charming and intelligent woman in full measure.