Lady Elaine did not reply, but again that icy shudder passed through her, leaving her as cold as death. Her great sorrow had left her numb and spiritless.
Lady Gaynor came next morning; she was a large, handsome woman of fifty or thereabouts—a woman with determination marked in every line of her smiling face. For ten years she had succeeded in maintaining a small estate known as “The Lodge” upon absolutely no assured income at all. The house and lands were incumbered, but Lady Gaynor had managed, so far, to keep off the marauding hands of the money-lenders. But of late her practices had obtained the severe notice of people who moved in the charmed circle of the court, and Lady Gaynor knew that she must employ sharp wits in other directions, or fall a prey to the harpies which, like the vampire, feed upon the blood of human hearts. Then the Earl of Seabright in some way became entangled in her toils, and many rumors were rife when he died. This was a serious blow to Lady Gaynor, but there was one hope still left. Upon his marriage with Lady Elaine, Viscount Rivington had promised her a handsome check—a check that would free her of the Jews, and still leave a respectable sum with which to make fresh ventures. It was really a matter of life and death to Lady Gaynor.
“My dear girl!” she said, effusively kissing one of Lady Elaine’s pale cheeks, “how sweet of you to be so considerate! Here you are quite ready, and we shall be back at the Lodge in time for lunch.”
Then Margaret Nugent came forward and greeted Elaine with a great show of affection. She could afford now to be affectionate in reality, for she no longer regarded Lady Elaine as a rival.
The drive to the Lodge was without incident, and Lady Gaynor showed the girl to a suite of shabbily-furnished rooms. The curtains were dingy, the carpets threadbare, and there was an air of mustiness everywhere that was stifling.
“Ah! I can see disappointment in your face,” her ladyship said, with well-assumed regret, “but this is the best that I can offer. Let us hope that you will soon reign as mistress of a home equal to the one you have left. I shall then expect you to requite the kindness I am endeavoring to extend to you now. Ah! how selfish poverty makes us all, Lady Elaine. You do not care to come down for lunch? Well, you shall have a cup of tea up here and spend the rest of the day as you please, assisting your maid to unpack.”
Lady Gaynor went away, and a little later Margaret Nugent came to say good-by.
“I am going home,” she said, “because mamma has a fresh attack of fancied woes. Shall I bring the pony-carriage to-morrow, and we will have a long drive?”
“No, thank you, Margaret,” said Lady Elaine, “I think that I hate the old, familiar scenes. My great trouble has fallen on me with the weight of an avalanche. I do not seem able to realize it yet. My lover—my father—all—at one blow. My energy—my spirit is killed within me!”
“Time will soften your grief, Elaine,” said Margaret, gently. “There is a great future before you—a future bright with triumph and splendor, if you only grasp it aright.”