“One was the natural consequence of the other; if I had not been imprudent I should not have had anything to conceal. I am quite aware of my own faults, and really sorry for them; but it would be a dreadful thing to break up Reggie’s house. And then the scandal and misery to him, poor fellow!”
“I am glad you can feel for him—at last,” retorted Lady Gwendolyn. “I presume that my troubles are of no consequence, although they were brought about entirely by your sin.”
“I can’t do more than express my penitence and regret,” answered Lady Teignmouth rather sulkily.
“Well, I suppose it is too late for anything else now,” admitted Lady Gwendolyn contemptuously. “Fortunately, however, I am learning to do without you both. If any harm comes to me, it is a comfort to know that the sin will be at your door.”
“Oh! but no harm will come to you, Gwen, of course. You will marry happily——”
“And then I shall be off your mind, sha’n’t I? But, really, I am wasting my time awfully,” she added abruptly. And, hailing a passing cab, she jumped into it, and, with a careless nod to Pauline, she drew her veil over her face, and leaned back out of sight.
After all, perhaps, although Lady Teignmouth had the best of it in some ways, she might not have been sorry to change with Lady Gwendolyn.
When her cab stopped at the Langham, Lady Gwendolyn got out, and walked up and down for awhile, afraid to enter.
For she had promised to go to Colonel Dacre’s room directly she returned, and she knew that the keen eyes of love would immediately find out her trouble. She could not have borne the most tender questioning just then, and so she lingered until her face was composed, and she could trust her voice and eyes.
Then she went slowly up-stairs, and knocked at Colonel Dacre’s door.