“Vane, that is my secret; that is the girl I love better than any one or anything in the world—Margery Daw.”
Vane Charteris was silent for a moment. She felt as though her vexation and jealousy would choke her; then she forced herself to be firm and calm. She dropped her fan and moved out of the sunlight; her face was very pale, but she smiled as Stuart looked at her eagerly.
“Well,” she said, quietly, “and—and you want me to help you—how?”
“You will?” he asked, with gladness on his face.
Vane put one hand on her chair for support.
“Am I not your friend?” she smiled, faintly.
“Oh, thank you—thank you!” he cried, rising from his chair; but Vane gently pushed him back again.
“Tell me what you want,” she urged, standing at his side, so that he could not see her pallor and annoyance.
“I want you to plead with me to my mother—not for myself—I am strong enough”—and Stuart drew himself up proudly—“I would face the whole world. I want you to be a friend to Margery, as you would be to me. She may need your help; a woman such as you, Vane, can do much—smooth many difficulties. You can see how angry my mother will be. I shall not care for her anger; but Margery is so tender, so sweet, so proud—anger will humiliate and distress her; and, if you aid her, she will scarcely feel it, I am sure.”
“Then you have not spoken to Aunt Constance yet?” Vane observed, very quietly. “I am afraid you will have great trouble. You see, Stuart, your—your wife will be of low station, and your mother is proud.”