Her father stood and gazed at her in consternation. This rivalry between his two daughters, the rich one and the poor one, came on him as an unexpected shock. Suddenly there came a sound of the door opening at the end of the gallery.
“We must not be seen!” burst from his lips; and, without pausing to consider the possible consequences, he seized hold of the curtains and drew them across the opening.
There had been two persons outside the door, and they entered together. One was Despencer, the other was John Hammond.
It was not in Despencer’s nature to be revengeful, but he had not been left entirely unmoved by Hammond’s biting taunts during their interview in the conservatory. But for them he might have been satisfied with the success already achieved. His only motive in denouncing Belle Yorke in the first place had been to bring about the engagement which he had just seen ratified. It was Hammond’s insulting treatment of him which had given him a personal interest in the affair. He yielded to the temptation of proving himself right and scoring off the man who had disbelieved him. As soon as he could manage his escape from the marchioness, he went to seek Hammond and bring him to the spot where he had left the marquis and Belle Yorke together.
Hammond at first refused to listen. Belle had assured him with her own lips that she had never even seen the man with whom her name was coupled. But Despencer’s statement compelled him to action. Wondering, reluctant, and dismayed, he allowed himself to be dragged into the gallery.
Both men as they entered glanced eagerly in the direction of the window. The next instant both stopped abruptly, and their eyes met. Despencer’s filled with malicious triumph, Hammond’s with the deepest mortification.
The curtains were closed. Who was behind them?
“Now, if you wish to know the truth, draw that curtain,” the tempter whispered. Then he walked slowly out of the gallery, watching Hammond as he went.
Left to himself, Hammond stood in silent anguish, his gaze fixed on the velvet folds which spared him the sight of the falsehood of the woman he loved. Fresh from his betrothal to Victoria, he had forgotten her already, so much greater was the bitterness of finding that his love was misplaced than the bitterness of having it rejected. He thought he could hear that Belle should not love him, but he found he could not bear that she should love another.
Face to face with that curtain, there seemed to be no more room for doubt. Despencer might not be a man of honor, but he could not, he dared not, have brought Hammond there unless he were sure of the result. What inducement had Despencer to lie? None. And Belle? Alas! it was evident that she had only too much.