“But—” said Aimée, and then she paused, asking herself what she could possibly urge that would be likely to influence this very determined young man, and save Fanny from the Nemesis that seemed about to overtake her. The absolute self-forgetfulness of her wistful gaze, as she stood with her hands clasped tightly together, struck Kyrle in the midst of his own preoccupation; but before he could speak she went on hurriedly: “If it were possible, Fanny would see you, I am sure. But she is placed in a very trying position just now, and she can not help herself—she can not see you. If you would only believe this and go away, perhaps some other time—”
“I believe it because you say it,” answered Kyrle, moved by a sudden impulse of compassion for the distress on her face, “and for your sake I will go. But there will be no other time, so far as any attempt of mine to see Miss Berrien is concerned. Her refusal to receive me, coming after her conduct of last night, makes it impossible that I shall ever again approach her. May I ask you to be my embassador, as you have been hers, and tell her that I disregarded her wishes and attempted to see her, not because I desired in the least to change her resolution, but because I wished to bring matters between us to a positive and definite conclusion. I did not want to leave any loophole for misunderstanding. Be kind enough to make this clear.”
“I will,” said Aimée, in feverish haste to be rid of him. “I promise you that I will make it perfectly clear. And shall I tell her that you are going away at once?”
“At once,” he replied, with decision. “She need fear no further annoyance of any kind from me; and you need not fear being sent again on such an errand as that of last night. At least there is no possibility of your being sent to me, and I strongly advise you to decline to serve Miss Berrien in that manner again.”
“She is not likely to ask me to serve her in that manner again,” said Aimée. “But though it was not pleasant, I would rather do that than—some other things,” she added, with a keen recollection of the service she had lately been called upon to render.
“It was simply unpardonable to have sent you on such an errand,” said the young man, his indignation growing with his interest in the childlike creature. “What if you had been seen and recognized! She should have known, if you did not, the grave risk you ran.”
Aimée was too loyal to acknowledge that she had been seen, so she only repeated her former statement: “It would not have mattered. I am of no importance at all; nobody thinks of me.”
“Apparently not,” said Lennox Kyrle dryly. To his credit it may be said that nothing had so completely disillusioned him with regard to Fanny Berrien, not even her perfidy toward himself, as her selfishness toward her young cousin. To take advantage of a child’s ignorance and generosity, to put her into a position that might have seriously compromised her, seemed to him an act so unworthy, that he could not entertain a shade of respect for the woman who was capable of it. “But it does not follow that, because nobody thinks of you, nobody should think of you,” he went on with energy. “You should think of yourself, and not allow your cousin to make use of you in this manner.”
“I am quite willing to be made use of, if I am not asked to do anything wrong,” said Aimée, simply; “and it seemed to me that it would have been worse in Fanny to go away with you, than to send me to tell you that she could not go.”
“Perhaps so,” said he, unable to resist smiling, “and I am quite willing to acknowledge that it was better she did not keep her appointment—better to break faith than keep it with an unwilling heart; but she might have had courage enough to own the truth herself.”