CHAPTER XXXI.
And events did take their course, when, a few evenings later, Marion suddenly saw Earle entering the salon, where three or four visitors were already assembled. She herself was at the farther end of the room, and somewhat concealed by a large Oriental screen, near which she was seated. She was very glad of this friendly shelter when she felt her heart leap in a manner which fairly terrified her, as, glancing up, she saw Earle's face in the doorway. Her own emotion surprised her far more than his appearance; she shrank farther back into the shadow to conceal what she feared might be perceptible to others, and yet she could not refrain from following him with her eyes.
What she saw was this—that, even while greeting Mrs. Kerr, his glance wandered to Claire; that his first eager step was taken in her direction; and that his face, when he took her hand, was so eloquent of pleasure and tender admiration that it made Marion recall some words he had spoken when they first knew each other in Scarborough. "She charmed me," he had said then of Claire; "she is so simple, so candid, so intent upon high aims." Every word came back with sudden distinctness, with sudden, piercing meaning and weight, in the light of the look on Earle's face.
"He is in love with Claire!" said Marion to herself. "Nothing could be more natural, nothing more suitable. There is no struggle here between his heart and his judgment, as was the case with me. She seems to be made for him in every respect. Why did I not think of it sooner, and why did not Claire tell me that he had transferred his affection to her? Did she want me to see for myself, or did she think that I should not see? But there is no reason why I should care—none whatever."
Even while she repeated this assurance to herself, however, the sinking of her heart, the trembling of her hands, belied it, and frightened her by the evidence of a feeling she had not suspected. Surely, among the mysteries of our being, there is none greater than the existence and growth of feelings which we not only do not encourage, but of which we are often in absolute ignorance until some flash of illumination comes to reveal to us their strength.
Such a flash came now to Marion. She had assured herself that she had put Brian Earle out of her heart, and instead she suddenly found that, during the interval in which she had condemned it to darkness and silence, her feeling for him had increased rather than lessened. And she was now face to face with the proof that he had forgotten her—that he had found in Claire the true ideal of his fancy! She felt that it was natural, she acknowledged that it was just, but the shock was overpowering.
Fortunately, she happened at that moment to be alone—a gentleman who had been talking to her having crossed the room to ask Mrs. Kerr a question. Seeing him about to retrace his steps, a sudden instinct of flight—of flight at any cost of personal dignity—seized Marion. She felt that in another instant Claire would point her out to Earle, that he would be forced to come and address her. Could she bear that?—was she able to meet him as indifferently as she desired to do? Her beating pulses told her no; and, without giving herself time to think, she rose, lifted a portière near her, and passed swiftly and silently from the room.
Claire, meanwhile, glanced up at Earle; and she, too, met that look of tender admiration which Marion perceived. It was not the first time she had met it, but it was the first time that a consciousness of its possible meaning flashed upon her. She did not color at the thought, but grew instead suddenly pale, and glanced toward the corner of the room where Marion at that instant had made her escape; but Claire did not perceive this, and, with the sense of her presence, said to Earle:—
"You have probably not heard that my friend Marion Lynde is here?"