"That is such an unlikely contingency, your question needs no reply," he answered, gravely; and bending his head until his lips touched the hand he held, he said, with simple gravity: "Good-bye, Esther, and God bless you."
And so he went away from her, and Mrs. Newbold, with the unreasoning instinct of her sex, felt she had never esteemed him so highly as now, when he refused the request she urged so ardently upon him.
CHAPTER X.
THE SONG OF THE CIGALE.
Mr. Tremain, on leaving Mrs. Newbold's boudoir, made his way, without encountering any one, to the lower hall, turning instinctively from the billiard-room, from whence the sound of the cues against the balls, and an occasional exclamation proclaimed the occupation of the men.
In his present state of mind he felt no inclination to join them, or take part in the employment of the hour. His conversation with Esther had reawakened all the unrest and bitterness of his heart against Patricia. Looked at in any light, her conduct could not but appear heartless and unwomanly, and the remembrance of it—of her scornful eyes and smiling, mocking lips—rankled in his mind and added the one touch of vindictiveness that is so closely allied to revenge, as to be a difference in name only.
Mr. Tremain would have scouted any such paltry feeling as a desire for retaliation, and yet deep down in his heart there lay the half-developed germ. Could any vendetta strike her heart more surely than such an action on his part, as should prove to her how brittle were the bands she had woven, how impotent her power to hold captive the man she had scorned?
There remained yet an hour before the time of his departure, and Philip, more by instinct than design, turned towards the library, and, pushing back the noiseless portières, entered. The room was empty, and lay in the half-shadow of the quick coming evening. A touch of gold from the setting sun still lingered on the painted windows, touching to a deeper tone the blues and purples in the classic folds of Clio's drapery. One casement stood open, and the evening air floated in, fragrant with a thousand odours from Nature's laboratory; strong and subtle and all-powerful arose the keen scent of the musk plant, overcoming all lesser perfumes, and asserting with overwhelming insistence its supremacy. One long low ray of sunlight fell across the picture on the easel, lighting up with magic radiance the passionate languor of Io's face, and marking with stronger emphasis Jupiter's stern acceptation of her allurements.
Still following his instincts Mr. Tremain crossed the long room, and drawing back the curtains that separated the music-parlour from the library, stood for a moment uncertain as to his further action. The room was unlighted save for the same level rays of dying sunlight, and the piano that stood at the far end was thus lost in the quivering darkness.