In the haste of an unreasoning impulse, she went to Medland's house, full of the idea of dissociating herself from what had been done, only dimly conscious of difficulties which, if they existed, she was yet resolute to sweep away. Convention should not stand between, nor cost her a single unkind thought from him.
She asked for Daisy Medland, and was shown into Daisy's little room. She had not long to wait before Daisy came in. Alicia ran to meet her, but dared not open the subject near her heart, for the young girl's bearing was calm and distant. Yet her eyes were red, for it was but two hours since Dick Derosne had flung himself out of that room, and she had been left alone, able at last to cast off the armour of wounded pride and girlish reti
cence. She had assumed it again to meet her new visitor, and Alicia's impetuous sympathy was frozen by the fear of seeming impertinence.
At last, in despair of finding words, yet set not to go with her errand undone, she stretched out her arms, crying—
"Daisy! Not with me, dear!"
Daisy was not proof against an assault like that. Her wounded pride—for Dick had not been enough of a diplomatist to hide the meaning of his sudden flight—had borne her through her interview with him, and he had gone away doubting if she had really cared for him; it broke down now. She sprang to Alicia's arms, and her comforter seemed to hear her own confession in the young girl's broken and half-stifled words.
"Do come again," said Daisy, and Alicia, who after a long talk had risen to go, promised with a kiss.
The door opened and Medland came in. Alicia started, almost in fright.
"I came—I came—" she began in her agitation, for she assumed that his daughter had told him her story.
"It's very kind of you," he answered, and she, still misunderstanding, went on eagerly—