Margery laughed softly, and put up her hand to unpin the veil, when the door opened, and a voice announced:
“Lady Charteris—Miss Charteris!”
Margery felt the blood surge in her ears and a mist rose before her eyes; she saw again the beautiful, cold, cruel creature who had spoken words that stabbed her to the very heart.
She acknowledged the introduction with a slight bend of the head, then, murmuring a few words of regret and farewell, went swiftly from the room to her carriage, her breast full of stormy emotions.
“I am so sorry you did not see Lady Court; she has the face of an angel,” said the hostess, as Margery disappeared.
“She is very tall,” observed Vane, in her most bored manner—“almost too tall for a woman—and she seems to have red hair. I hate red hair,” she added, a vision of a sweet, girlish face, framed in red-gold curls, rising before her as she spoke.
“Your taste, dear Vane, is always good,” observed the old lady, dryly, and then the conversation drifted into other channels.
Margery gave her orders in a quiet, stifled voice, and was driven back to the hotel. The fear, the dread she had suffered in anticipation of this meeting was as nothing compared with the agony of pride and pain she now endured. She had thought herself strong, thought she was braced for whatever might happen, and at one blow the barriers she had been building were thrown to the ground, and she was the broken-hearted, humiliated girl once again. The sight of Vane recalled all her despair, and knowledge that Stuart—her love—was lost to her forever. She sat in deep thought as the carriage rolled along, and it was not till it drew up at the hotel that she woke from her meditations. Then, in a moment, came the memory of her position—of her husband. She was now far above such insults, and she had one who would avenge them. The first rush of agitation had died away, and, when she reached her rooms, she paced up and down till her mind was restored to tranquillity.
She would be braver in the future, and, if fate forced her to meet either of those two, she would go through the ordeal unflinchingly. It would be bitter, she knew, for, painful as the sight of Vane Charteris had been, it recalled only wounded pride; with the other her experience would be different, for the sight of Stuart’s face would bring back the memory of her unrequited love and despair.
She threw off her mantle and hat, and turned suddenly to the piano. In moments of great emotion music soothed her—it relieved her overcharged heart.