“What could I think?” went on John Temple, with deep emotion. “I believed she had loved me too well to leave me, and—and perhaps in her misery—her despair—”
“Oh, my poor fellow, I am sorry for you!” exclaimed Mrs. Temple, and she went up to John Temple and laid her hand on his arm. “So this is the story, is it? A sad, sad story!”
“I left England, meaning never to return,” continued Temple, after a short pause. “Even when the news came of my poor uncle’s death I did not mean to do so. I received a letter from Mr. Churchill; a letter he had a right to write, and to which I was bound in honor to reply. I have come back for the purpose of doing this; I will tell him the truth—”
“Do not talk of it any more just now,” interrupted Mrs. Temple. “This is your own house now, but let me, for once at least, act as hostess. You will find your old rooms all ready for you, and we dine at half-past eight.”
“I think I am too tired to dine; will you excuse me?” said Temple, wearily.
“Nonsense, nonsense, I won’t excuse you. We shall be quite alone. My good mother has been with me since your poor uncle’s death until to-day; but to-day I insisted on her departure. I was not going to have you annoyed by her.”
“Thank you for being so considerate.”
“Oh! you know I always wished to be good friends with you; it was not until—well, never mind, let us forget the past.”
“I fear that is impossible,” said John Temple, sadly.