When Gladys was gone, Miss Gwynne sat down upon the nearest chair, and covered her face with her hands.
Another knock at the door.
'Come in! What do you want?' she exclaimed in a suppressed voice.
'My master says the carriage is ready, and he thinks you had better go, ma'am. Colonel Vaughan has just come in. The heat has made his nose bleed so violently that he cannot be ready for dinner, but will be at Pentre for the ball, ma'am, my master says.'
'Very well; I shall be ready in a few moments.'
Freda rose from her chair, and went to her dressing-table. There was a bottle of eau-de-cologne on it. She poured out nearly half a wine-glassful, added water, and drank the dose. Then she dashed a quantity over her forehead; wetted her handkerchief with more, and having nearly exhausted the bottle, prepared to leave the room. Suddenly she stopped, exclaiming,—
'I cannot go! I feel as if I must faint; yet I must see the farce played out.'
A bitter smile, almost ghastly, passed over her face, as she muttered these words. She took up a splendid bouquet of greenhouse flowers that had been prepared for her, and were placed on the table, almost mechanically, and looking like one in a dream, left the room.
'It is half-past six, Freda,' said Mr Gwynne in the loudest tone of which his voice was capable, as he descended the stairs.
The servants remarked to one another how very ill Miss Gwynne was looking, but her father did not perceive it. He was talking of Colonel Vaughan.