A line came back instantly in pencil.
“Mrs. Dodd,—Is all the generosity and all the good faith to be on one side?—Yours in despair,
“ALFRED HARDIE.”
Mrs. Dodd coloured faintly: the reproach pricked her, but did not move her. She sat quietly down that moment, and wrote to a friend in London, to look out for a furnished villa in a healthy part of the suburbs, with immediate possession. “Circumstances,” said she, “making it desirable we should leave Barkington immediately, and for some months.”
The Bosanquets gave a large party; Mrs. and Miss Dodd were there. The latter was playing a part in a charade to the admiration of all present, when in came Mr. Peterson, introducing his friend, Alfred Hardie.
Julia caught the name, and turned a look of alarm on her mother, but went on acting.
Presently she caught sight of him at some distance. He looked very pale, and his glittering eye was fixed on her with a sort of stern wonder.
Such a glance from fiery eyes, that had always dwelt tenderly on her till then, struck her like a weapon. She stopped short, and turned red and pale by turns. “There, that is nonsense enough,” said she bitterly, and went and sat by Mrs. Dodd. The gentlemen thronged round her with compliments, and begged her to sing. She excused herself. Presently she heard an excited voice, towards which she dared not look; it was inquiring whether any lady could sing Aileen Aroon. With every desire to gratify the young millionaire, nobody knew Aileen Aroon, nor had ever heard of it.
“Oh, impossible!” cried Alfred. “Why, it is in praise of Constancy, a virtue ladies shine in: at least, they take credit for it.”
“Mamma,” whispered Julia terrified, “get me away, or there will be a scene. He is reckless.”