Madeline paused, and shook the letter. No, no draft fluttered out.
“I have banked it,” put in Mrs. Harper, precipitately, who had been scrutinizing every change in the girl’s face. “It is quite safe.”
“And now I must wind up, hoping soon to see Madeline, and with love to her and compliments to yourself and daughters, especially the lively Miss Selina.
“Yours faithfully,
“Robert West.”
“Well, Madeline, tell me what you think of that?” demanded Mrs. Harper, wiping her glasses.
“I—I—am very glad of course,” she returned, her brain and ideas in a whirl; but now fully comprehending the cause of Mrs. Harper’s blandishments and welcome.
“We are so sorry, love, that we were so hasty about Mr. Wynne. It was entirely Selina’s doing, I do assure you. I am most thankful to see—especially after your father’s letter—that you did not marry him after all!”
“Not marry him,” echoed the girl, colouring vividly. “What do you mean?”
“I see you are not married by your hand,” pointing a long finger at Madeline’s ringless member. “Is not that sufficient proof?” she asked sharply.
Madeline was suddenly aware that she was at a crisis—a great moral crisis—in her life, when she must take action at once, an action that meant much. Her father’s letter, Mrs. Harper’s conclusion, her own dire want, all prompted the quick decision made on the instant. She would for the present temporise—at least till she had met her father, told him her story in her own way, and accomplished a full pardon. To declare now that she was a wife would be ruin—ruin to her, death to Laurence, for of course her father would cut her off with a shilling. She was aware that he had very strong prejudices, a grotesque adoration for rank and success, and a corresponding abhorrence of those who were poor, needy, and obscure; also that he was a man of his word. This she had gleaned out in Australia when but seven years of age. They had lived in a splendid mansion in Toorak, the most fashionable suburb of Melbourne, and an elderly reduced Englishwoman had been her governess. But because she had permitted her to play with some children whose father was in difficulties, who was socially ostracised, she had been discharged at a week’s notice, and Madeline had been despatched to England. Her father was peculiar—yes. In a second her mind was resolved, and, with hands that shook as she folded up the crackling foreign notepaper, she reassumed the character of Miss West!