Mr. Moore went on with his engineering feats. He cherished no resentment because Winthrop had left him so suddenly. Still, he had observed that such sudden exits were sometimes an indication of temper; in such cases there was nothing better than an unnoticing, and if possible an occupied, silence; so he went on with his fire.
"It's most unfortunate that there's no one who has any real authority over her," Winthrop began, still smarting under the refusal. Margaret had chosen the clergyman as her counsellor; it would be as well, then, to indicate to that gentleman what course should be pursued.
"You have some plan to recommend to her?" said Mr. Moore, putting the tongs away and seating himself. He held out his long hands as if to warm them a little by the flame, and looked at Winthrop inquiringly.
"No, I don't know that I have. But she is sure to be obstinate in any case." He too sat down, and stared moodily at the flame.
"You think it will be a great grief to her," observed the clergyman, after a while. "No doubt—no doubt."
"No grief at all, as far as that goes. Lanse has always treated her abominably." He paused. Then continued, as if there were now good reasons for telling the whole tale. "Before he had been married a year, he left her, she did not leave him, as my aunt supposes; he went abroad, and would not allow her to come to him. There had never been the least fault on her side; there hasn't been up to this day."
"I cannot understand such fickleness, such dark tendencies towards change," said Mr. Moore, in rebuking wonder.
"As far as regards change, I ought to say, perhaps, that there hasn't been much of that," Winthrop answered. "What took him abroad was an old interest—something he had felt long before his marriage, and felt strongly; he has never changed in that respect."
"Do you allude—is it possible that you are alluding to an interest in a person?" asked Mr. Moore, in a lowered tone.
"It certainly wasn't a thing; I hardly think you would call a beautiful French woman of rank that, would you?"