She tried to laugh, but it was a dismal failure.
“Oh, Elaine,” she added, a pang of bitterness at her heart, “I pity your future!”
“I am not afraid,” the earl’s daughter replied, softly. “My faith, my love is too strong.”
Even now she did not for one moment suspect Margaret Nugent hated her as only a jealous woman can hate.
“I have written to my lover to come back and forgive me,” Lady Elaine went on, “and now that I have seen you, Margaret, my maid shall take my letter to him.”
For a moment Miss Nugent turned away her face to hide the flash of malevolence that sprang to her eyes. Then she spoke quickly, eagerly:
“Oh, Lady Elaine, since my advice has not ended happily, it would be a pleasure, indeed, for me to be the bearer of the flag of truce to my willful cousin. His ultimate happiness is one of my dearest wishes, and, though I have no patience with his moods and freaks, no one cares more for Sir Harold in a sisterly way than I do. You will grant me this one favor, please, because I am beginning to feel that in some way I have been acting disloyally toward him. Mamma and I have to drive to Annesley Park after lunch, and I will place your letter into Sir Harold’s own hands.”
“How can I refuse so kind an offer?” Elaine replied. “Who so reliable a messenger as you, Margaret? Here is my letter—-here are the words which will recall my lover.”
Miss Nugent almost snatched it from her. Then she laughed a forced laugh, and promised that it should be given to Sir Harold within two hours.
She gave Lady Elaine a Judas kiss, her heart throbbing with triumph. Then she went away, saying: