There was a minute’s silence after he finished, for both of his hearers were completely taken by surprise. Fanny Meredith fairly gasped with amazement before she cried:
“Why, it is worse than quixotism—it is absolute madness! I have never heard of such a thing in my life! What you threw away before, when you went against your uncle’s wishes, was bad enough; but this—!” Words failed her: tears absolutely came into her eyes. “O Lennox,” she said, imploringly, “you surely will not do it!—Aimée, for Heaven’s sake, speak to him! He will listen to you!”
Aimée flushed, but Lennox turned to her quickly. His face was set in resolute lines, but there was something in his eyes—a wistful, pathetic expression, as of one asking help—which touched her deeply.
“Tell me,” he said, simply, “am I not right?”
It was a subject on which few people would have cared to offer advice, unless, like Fanny Meredith, they offered it on the side of worldly common-sense; but Aimée did not hesitate. She answered as simply and directly as he had asked:
“Yes—as far as I can judge, I think that you are right.”
Fanny Meredith threw up her hands, as if appealing to earth and heaven against such folly.
“I think you are both mad,” she said, “and I really feel constrained to seek some saner society.”
With this, before either could utter a word or make the least effort to detain her, she had turned and fled. For an instant they stood confounded, listening to the sound of her flying feet down that incline which is a veritable “facilis descensus.” Then murmuring something quickly, Aimée made a motion to follow; but the consciousness of being a millionaire, were it only for an hour, gave Lennox courage and resolution.
“Pray do not go,” he said, earnestly; “she will be back presently, or—we can follow her. But first I must speak to you; I wish to ask your advice.”