"I would not prevent your ride for the world," she said, in precisely the same unmoved tone. "I shall only walk to the gates and back."
"I am sorry you can not accompany us," Laurence said. "I suppose that wretched headache will prevent me taking my revenge at chess to-night."
"Hardly, I think; it will go off in the cool of the evening."
"You are very obliging—"
"Oh, she means to beat you unmercifully," interrupted Margaret; "don't you, Miss Chase?"
"If I can, of course," she replied, with a little deprecatory gesture, as if the attempt were likely to prove a hopeless one.
"We shall see," returned the gentleman. "Come, Margaret, the horses will get restless. A pleasant walk, Miss Chase."
She bowed, and watched the pair out of the room; when the door closed, she took her old station, saw them mount and ride swiftly down the avenue.
Very quiet and still she stood there—there was no pulsation strong enough even to stir the lace upon her bosom. One hand fell at her side, the other was pressed hard against the marble sill, and once more the cold, fixed resolution crept slowly over her countenance.
It must have been a full half-hour before she in turn left the apartment. She went up to her room, came down with her bonnet and shawl on, and walked out upon the broad veranda which ran the whole length of the house.