Theodora could not think so; each of her cares seemed to make the others worse, till the mere toil and vexation of Helen’s lessons became serious; and yet, when the children were dismissed for their walk, she felt unable to profit by her leisure, otherwise than by sighing at the prospect of missing the power of looking in at Arthur from hour to hour. She had not roused herself to occupation, when, to her dismay, Lord St. Erme was admitted. She began to say her father was not at home.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I met him.’
He means mischief! thought Theodora.
‘He tells me that you are going away!’
‘I believe so,’ said Theodora. ‘My mother is not well, and we cannot both be spared from home.’
‘Will you forgive me?’ said the Earl, still standing, and with downcast eyes, and heightened complexion. ‘I know this is no fit time, but I could not part without one allusion. I would not harass you for worlds. A word from you, and I drop the subject.’
‘Oh! pray, then, say no more!’ was her breathless entreaty.
He turned in silence, with a mournful gesture of farewell, and laid his hand on the door. She perceived her unkindness to one who had every claim to honour and consideration—one who had remembered her in well-nigh the hour of death.
‘Stay,’ she said; ‘I did not speak as I ought.’
‘I know I presumed too far,’ said Lord St. Erme, pausing; ‘I ask your pardon for disturbing you. It was selfish; but I could not let you go without once adverting to the subject—’