“I am a little weary,” Margery answered, waking from her thoughts; “but that is ended now, I hope.”
She spoke to herself more than to the maid; her mind was on the one subject that had engrossed her all the afternoon. Pauline smiled; she thought she understood the meaning of her words.
“Ah, milord is to return!” she decided, and went away to her room.
Margery sat on before the fire. The tea had revived her, yet she seemed strangely agitated as the time drew near for her husband’s arrival. A vague sense of approaching trouble had come over her, and she put her hand to her heart to try to stay its quick, hurried beat. She had been thinking so deeply that her nerves were unstrung. The solitude had tried her, she told herself; yet, even as she whispered this, her heart began to flutter again. It was a strange, incomprehensible feeling, a feeling she had never experienced before, and she longed for, yet dreaded, her husband’s return.
At last the sound of wheels caught her ear, and she rose from her seat.
“I will be firm—I must forget!” she whispered. “My love, good-by, good-by!”
Then she heard the sound of voices in the hall and knew that her husband was close at hand. She turned to greet him as the door opened, and in the dim light she saw two men enter.
“Margery, my wife!” said Nugent’s grave, tender voice; and his lips touched hers.
His companion not coming forward, the earl still holding Margery’s hand, looked around.
“I have brought a friend home, darling. It is only a flying visit, as he is off to Australia; but I persuaded him to come for a few days. There will be a bond of friendship between you through poor Gerant. Crosbie, let me introduce you to the Countess of Court.”