“Did Lady Maria tell you that, too?”
“Indeed she did, and ‘albeit though not given to the melting mood,’ I cried with her, poor thing! ‘For,’ as she pathetically said, ‘we were so happy together, Percy and I, until Mrs. O’Hara came to stay with us in town, and then she gave him such an exalted idea of himself that I could not please or satisfy him afterward.’”
There was a minute’s silence. Lady Gwendolyn was almost ashamed at the warmth she had shown, lest her motives should be misconstrued; and Colonel Dacre was meditating deeply. At last he looked up and said:
“Why do you tell me all this, Lady Gwendolyn? You are not a spiteful woman naturally, and I know you to be incapable of jealousy. For these reasons I am specially anxious to understand your meaning.”
“Can’t you guess?”
“No; unless you fancy I am in danger from Mrs. O’Hara’s attractions, and need warning.”
“I have been afraid so,” she said; and the wild-rose bloom of her soft cheeks deepened to a rich crimson. “And we have been friends so long, neighbors always, I could not bear to see you throw yourself away on a woman who was so infinitely unworthy of an honest man’s love.”
If Lady Gwendolyn had been near Colonel Dacre she would not have dared to speak so frankly. But her position, if ridiculous, had its advantages, for she was out of the range of his keen glances, and the tremulous leaves had the benefit of her frequent blushes. For over a month now she had been longing to tell him this, but the courage had only come to-day. She was quite obliged to Farmer Bates’ bull for having frightened her up into the tree, and she did not mean to descend just yet.
Colonel Dacre took a long time to digest her warning, but he spoke at last coolly enough.
“Thank you, Lady Gwendolyn; but though I don’t quite agree with you about Mrs. O’Hara, I would sooner shoot myself than marry her. My friend was a noble fellow, and kept his counsel bravely to the end; but there was one thing that would always prevent me from falling in love with his widow.”