Roland had need of all the comfort and sympathy she could give him, for he had various troubles just then. The people who delight in inventing or propagating malicious gossip had been making such mischief as they could. Nora's indignation had been roused more than once, lately, by hearing the incident of his appearance at the police-court on behalf of their unfortunate protégée, distorted into a story discreditable to Roland on the score of such an acquaintance. And, as she could not possibly give the true history of the affair, her indignant defence was received with somewhat incredulous and significant smiles, excessively annoying to her chivalrous nature. Many people, indeed, were only too glad to catch at a substantial reason for looking askance at Roland Graeme.
But personal annoyances did not, after all, trouble him so much as did his growing anxiety about Waldberg, which also, to some extent, he confided to Miss Blanchard. The "boy" had got fairly into the vortex of speculation, so far as his very limited means would permit. Some fatal successes had greatly intensified his ambition. He was dreaming wild dreams of "making his pile," and carrying off Kitty in triumph; for he had no doubt that "Old Farrell" would "come round" if he could only satisfy him financially. And he knew, too well, that Kitty was thoroughly tired of her engagement, and that, but for her father's strong opposition, it would have been broken long ago. The truth was, Mr. Farrell had lost heavily of late through various causes, and his own affairs were not in nearly such a flourishing condition as was generally supposed.
Mr. Archer had also become a frequent visitor at Dr. Blanchard's, and had been, as Mrs. Blanchard observed, "very polite and attentive." He was fond of riding in the fine spring afternoons, and, as Miss Blanchard was a good horsewoman, he had urged that, since she was looking rather pale and languid, she should have a ride or two with him, Miss Pomeroy's horse and habit being readily placed at her disposal. Her brother warmly seconded the proposal. It was, he said, just the sort of tonic she needed, after all she had been through. Accordingly, they had two delightful rides into the country, during which Mr. Archer exerted himself to be more agreeable than she had ever known him, for he knew by this time what Nora liked, and he could throw off his half-assumed tone of cynicism when it pleased him. He led the way to the prettiest spots in the neighborhood, where they alighted to pick wild flowers. As they were returning from the last of these excursions—Miss Blanchard with a knot of hepaticas on her breast—they met Roland Graeme, who had been giving himself the refreshment of a country walk. He looked somewhat wistfully at the two riders. He was, himself, very fond of the exercise, and Miss Blanchard was looking remarkably well, the rapid exercise having brought the color to her cheek and the sparkle to her eyes. He could not help feeling a pang of envy—a wish, that just then he could be in the place of the prosperous-looking, well-appointed Philip Archer.
"Graeme's looking fagged out, these days!" remarked Mr. Archer. "His philanthropy seems to be too much for him."
Nora made no reply; for she could not talk over Roland's troubles with Mr. Archer, who always patronized "Graeme."
"It's too bad of you, Miss Blanchard," he continued, "to go off and leave all your friends here, just when they've got to depend on you. The Girls' Club will be left desolate. Miss Pomeroy and Miss Farrell will never be able to keep it up without you."
"I think they will do very well," she said, laughing.
"And Mr. Graeme will miss one of his warmest sympathizers," he added, looking at her scrutinizingly. He saw no trace of any consciousness and went on, lightly: "And what will you do with yourself in Rockland? By your account there are no wrongs to right in that happy Arcadia."
"Rest, and be thankful," she retorted, in the same tone.
When he spoke again, there was an undercurrent of real feeling struggling through the lightness of his tone.