Margery was soon back. She had put on her sables, a round cap of the same rich fur surmounting her red-gold curls, and for once she wore no veil. She had determined to hide herself no longer. She had nothing to fear; it was she who had been wronged and insulted. Pride lent her strength, and she felt that her eyes could meet Vane’s clearly and coldly now, even though her heart still ached with the pain Stuart Crosbie had caused.
The earl settled her comfortably in the carriage, and then stepped in himself.
“This weather is terrible,” he said, as they started. “Once this law business is settled, Margery, I think I shall take you to a warmer climate, to see the sunshine and breathe the scent of flowers.”
“There is one pilgrimage I must make before we do that,” returned Margery, in a low voice. “I cannot rest till I have visited Enid’s grave.”
The earl raised her little black-gloved hand to his lips.
“You speak only of my heart’s thoughts, my own; but I hesitated to take you to the manor in this wet, gloomy weather. I thought the sunshine would——”
“Sunshine is beautiful; but the manor is home, and is near her.”
Margery smiled faintly; she was compelled to speak these words, for she felt almost overpowered by this tender devotion, and suffered miserably as she thought how poorly she could return it. Henceforth it mattered little to her where she lived; but, if her choice of the manor brought him pleasure, she was glad.
“Home!” repeated Lord Court, tenderly. “Ah, Margery, you cannot know what a wealth of happiness there is in that word! Thank you, dear, for uttering it. Yes, we will go home.”
They were silent after this till they reached a quiet street in an unfashionable quarter, and presently the earl handed Margery into the doorway of a tall, gloomy-looking house.