The day dragged on. The weather was sultry and every one felt depressed. Fanny was spending the day with relations of her future husband's; but the three girls had no engagements and lounged away the afternoon rather dismally at home.
All were relieved when Fanny and Mr. Marsh came in at supper-time, and they seated themselves at the table with alacrity. They had not proceeded far with the meal, when footsteps, unexpected but familiar, were heard ascending the staircase; then some one knocked, and before there was time to reply, the door was thrown open to admit Frank Jermyn.
He looked curiously unlike himself as he advanced and shook hands amid an uncomfortable silence that everybody desired to break. His face was pale, and no longer moody, but tense and eager, with shining eyes and dilated nostrils.
"You will stay to supper, Mr. Jermyn?" said Gertrude, at last, in her most neutral tones.
"Yes, please." Frank drew a chair to the table like a person in a dream.
"You are quite a stranger," cried arch, unconscious Fan, indicating with head and spoon the dish from which she proposed to serve him.
Frank nodded acceptance of the proffered fare, but ignored her remark.
Silence fell again upon the party, broken by murmurs from the enamoured Edward, and the ostentatious clatter of knives and forks on the part of people who were not eating. Every one, except the plighted lovers, felt that there was electricity in the air.
At last Frank dropped his fork, abandoning, once for all, the pretence of supper.