Greygallows by KATHY Page B

cared to stoop to chastise a clerk. Which reminds me that I never apologized to you for my behavior the day you were taken ill. I was so distressed by your state that I forgot myself. I was also laboring under a false impression; from Beam's attitude, I thought the fellow was a gentleman.'
    'Then you did not fight with him?'
    Clare's eyes flashed fire, and I said hastily, 'No, I understand. You could not meet with a ... But I thought dueling was forbidden by law.'
    Clare relaxed. He gave me an indulgent smile.
    'The code of honor is more ancient than any law. But it is natural that a lady would dislike violence. Let us talk of something more pleasant. I know you have had admirers; that is all in the past now, and I have no intention of mentioning the subject again.'
    I had wondered whether he knew about Fernando. Now I was sure that he did; and I could only appreciate the delicacy with which he told me of his knowledge, and of his indifference to it. There was something very gallant in the way he spared me even the mention of unpleasantness; quite a contrast to my ill-bred admirer, as Clare called him.
    From under lowered lashes I studied my husband. Perhaps, I thought, if I repeat the word often enough I will begin to believe it. He had fallen silent; there was a slight smile on his well-cut mouth, and the profile he had turned toward me was as perfect as that on an antique coin. His slender hands, in gloves of the finest leather, rested lightly on his knees. They were as white and well tended as a woman's hands, but I knew they were not weak. I had heard of Clare's reputation as a swordsman. They could be gentle, too. I thought of the touch that had caressed my hands and, on one occasion, my cheek; and I thought of the fast-approaching night; and a shiver ran through me.
    Instantly Clare turned toward me, full of apologies. He adjusted the fur-lined robe around me, and as he did so my reticule fell to the floor, spilling out some of its contents. He restored bag and objects to me. Among them was a letter.
    'From Master Jonathan?' he asked. He was smiling, but his expression did not deceive me. I said quickly,
    'No, of course not. It is, I think, a note of congratulation from an old school friend—but you know her, Margaret Montgomery. My aunt handed it to me as we left. I had not time before...'
    I started to open it. Before I could remove the enclosure, Clare's hand came across and whisked the envelope neatly out of my hand.
    He proceeded to read the note, while I sat staring at him in mingled alarm and indignation. As he read, a frown gathered on his imperious brow. Calmly he tore the note into tiny pieces and flung them out the window. Then he turned to me.
    'As I thought. Ill-natured gossip of the worst kind.'
    'It was my letter,' I said. 'It was addressed to me.'
    'It was addressed to a person who no longer exists. You are Lady Clare now, and your husband has not only the right, but the duty to stand between you and the malice of those who wish you ill.'
    'Margaret does not wish me ill,' I exclaimed. 'She is my friend, she—'
    'She is a relative of mine,' Clare reminded me. 'I know her superstitious, hysterical disposition only too well.'
    If he had been hectoring or loud, I might have screwed up my courage to remonstrate. But he was not, he was smiling at me in the kindest way, and his voice was gentle. Not only his sex and his position, but his greater age made complaint from me seem an impertinence. My anger was overruled by these considerations—and by simple curiosity.
    'What did she say?' I asked.
    Clare laughed aloud and patted my hand.
    'You are too pretty a child to worry your head with such nonsense,' he said indulgently. 'We must take good care of you; you are so fragile I think a breath could blow you away. They say the air of the moors is good for lung complaints; that is why I rushed you away.'
    'Lung complaints? I have no—'
    Clare went on, as if I had not interrupted.
    'I have ordered heavy draperies