They had been standing near the fernery, behind which stood Una; she could hear every word, see every look.
Pale and almost breathless she stood, her hands clasped in front of her, her heart beating fast, her eyes fixed on Jack’s face. She longed to fly, yet could not move a foot. Something, his very presence, his very voice, held her like a chain.
She felt that if he were to turn and, seeing her, say, “Follow me!” she must follow him, though it were to the end of the earth.
A storm of conflicting emotions battled within her for mastery; a wild delight at his presence, an intense longing that his eyes might turn and rest on her, and at the same time an awful miserable feeling, which she did not know was jealousy.
How beautiful they looked, these two, Lady Bell, the heiress, in her rich dress and splendid jewels, and he, with his tanned face and bold, fierce eyes, his stalwart frame towering above all others, and sinking them into insignificance. How well matched they seemed. Why—why did Lady Bell smile at him like that? No wonder his face had grown brighter. Who could resist that bewitching smile?
The music of a waltz commenced and recalled her to a sense of her position. With a start she drew still further back, so that she was quite out of sight.
“There’s a dance,” said Jack, in his blunt way. “I would ask if you were free to give it to me, but I cannot dance to-night. I am in mourning. Don’t let me keep you, though.”
“That is a plain intimation,” said Lady Bell; “but I am sorry that you are in trouble. In sober earnest it was kind of you to come. I hope it was no one near to you.”
“No,” said Jack, and his face clouded at the recollection of Hurst Leigh. “It was a very dear old friend who had been very good to me.”
Lady Bell inclined her head, and her voice grew wonderfully soft.