"She has—" he began, but his wife interposed:
"I remember you, Mary, as a regular hoyden," she observed, and was about to go on when the announcement of dinner put an end to the conversation.
Mrs. Desmond could be a very pleasant companion when she chose, and upon this occasion she did choose, being anxious not only to obliterate from her husband's mind the painful impression caused by Helen's conduct, but also to convince her cousin that her marriage was an entirely happy one. Dinner was excellent and daintily served. In the evening an old friend of the colonel's dropped in, and there was plenty of bright talk. Colonel Desmond seemed profoundly contented, and his wife scarcely less so. Only Cousin Mary's thoughts wandered sometimes away from the cheerful voices and the pretty drawing-room, with its bright lights and fragrant flowers, to a small darkened chamber somewhere overhead, where she suspected that a forlorn little figure might be tossing restlessly and a young soul hardening for want of the love that is its right.
"Poor young thing!" thought Cousin Mary, longing in her eager way to run to the rescue, and yet knowing that she must bide her time if she would not make bad worse. But, thinking thus, the softness of her cousin's manner and the ancient endearments that passed between husband and wife had rather an irritating effect upon her. Once or twice there was a sharpness in her speech that a little astonished the good colonel.
"I expected from what I heard to find your cousin a charming woman," he said when he and his wife were alone together. "She has a pleasant enough face, but rather a sharp tongue, hasn't she?"
"Poor Mary!" laughed Mrs. Desmond softly. "She is a good soul at heart. A little hard, no doubt, but she has many excellent points."
Next day, although none of the usual noisy tokens of Helen's presence in the house were lacking, neither she nor her governess appeared at luncheon. Cousin Mary judged it wiser to ask no questions, but she sat in the drawing-room long after Mrs. Desmond disappeared to dress for that evening's dinner-party, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young culprit. But although she allowed herself only ten minutes for dressing, and was obliged in consequence to put on her plainest gown in place of the more elaborate one she had proposed wearing, she caught never a glimpse of Helen. Just, however, as she was closing her bed-room door behind her she heard her name called.
"Cousin Mary!"
The voice came in an eager whisper from the landing above.
"Cousin Mary, do just wait one minute."