He shook hands with Rowland in silence.
"Mr. Mallet refuses to say a word," Mrs. Light went on. "Time presses,
every moment is precious. Heaven knows what that poor boy may be doing.
If at this moment a clever woman should get hold of him she might be as
ugly as she pleased! It 's horrible to think of it."
The Cavaliere fixed his eyes on Rowland, and his look, which the night
before had been singular, was now most extraordinary. There was a
nameless force of anguish in it which seemed to grapple with the young
man's reluctance, to plead, to entreat, and at the same time to be
glazed over with a reflection of strange things.
Suddenly, though most vaguely, Rowland felt the presence of a new
element in the drama that was going on before him. He looked from the
Cavaliere to Mrs. Light, whose eyes were now quite dry, and were fixed
in stony hardness on the floor.
"If you could bring yourself," the Cavaliere said, in a low, soft,
caressing voice, "to address a few words of solemn remonstrance to Miss
Light, you would, perhaps, do more for us than you know. You would
save several persons a great pain.
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