"Indeed—indeed I think so! He is so cold and indifferent, and we never agree when we talk together—he seems impatient of my ideas. Our tastes are quite different; I am sure that I should not be happy with him, nor he with me."
"You will be brave then, my love, and tell him so?"
"Yes." But again she shrank from him. "Oh, what shall I do if she—if Flossy tells me that I must?"
Mr. Evandale frowned.
"Are you so much afraid of Mrs. Vane?"
"Yes," she said timorously—"I am. She—she frightens me! Oh, don't be angry! I know I am very weak; but indeed I cannot help it!"—and she burst into despairing tears.
"My darling, my poor little Enid, I am not angry at all! We will brave her together, you and I. You shall not be afraid of her any longer; you will know that I am always near you to protect you—to strengthen you. And you will trust to me?"
She tried to answer "Yes;" but her strength suddenly seemed to die away from her. She slipped from his arm and lay back upon the cushions; a bluish tinge overspread her lips; her face turned deathly white; she seemed upon the verge of a swoon.
Evandale, alarmed as he was, did not lose his presence of mind. Fortunately he had in his pocket a flask of brandy which he had been about to carry to a sick parishioner. In a moment he had it uncorked and was compelling her to swallow a mouthful or two; then he fanned her with the great black fan which had lain upon her lap; and finally he remembered that he had seen a great watering-can full of water standing in the garden path not far away, and found that it had not been removed. The cold water with which he moistened her lips and brow brought her to herself; in a few minutes she was able to look up at him and smile, and presently declared herself quite well. But Evandale was very grave.
"Are you often faint, Enid?" he asked.