Pauline entered with the haughty grace so natural to her; her proud eyes never once glanced at the captain; he was no more to her than the very furniture in the room.
"You wished to see me, Lady Hampton," she said, curtly.
"Yes—that is, Captain Langton wishes to say good-by to you; he is leaving Darrell Court this morning."
There was the least possible curl of the short upper lip. Lady Hampton happened to catch the glance bestowed upon Pauline by their visitor. For a moment it startled her—it revealed at once such hopeless passionate love and such strong passionate hate. Pauline made no reply; the queenly young figure was drawn up to its full height, the thoughtful face was full of scorn. The captain concealed his embarrassment as he best could, and went up to her with outstretched hands.
"Good-by, Miss Darrell," he said; "this has been a very sad time for you, and I deeply sympathize with you. I hope to see you again in the autumn, looking better—more like yourself."
Lady Hampton was wont to declare that the scene was one of the finest she had ever witnessed. Pauline looked at him with that straight, clear, calm gaze of hers, so terribly searching and direct.
"Good-by," she said, gravely, and then, utterly ignoring the outstretched hands, she swept haughtily from the room.
Lady Hampton did not attempt to conceal her delight at the captain's discomfiture.
"Miss Darrell is very proud," he said, laughing to hide his confusion. "I must have been unfortunate enough to displease her."
But Lady Hampton saw his confusion, and in her own mind she wondered what there was between these two—why he should appear at the same time to love and to hate her—above all, why she should treat him with such sovereign indifference and contempt.