The sorrowful despairing words repeat themselves over and over again in my brain. They fascinate and yet repel me. Why must the wretchedness of this world so heavily overbalance the good?
I fling the small volume from me with some impatience as Marmaduke comes in.
He has been studiously cold to me of late; indeed, he has shown an open and marked avoidance of my company. It has at times forced itself upon me that he bitterly repents his hasty persistence at Hazelton, and would now gladly sever the tie that binds us, were that possible.
At this moment he is looking bored and ennuye to the last degree, as he goes to one of the windows, and stands idly gazing out over the park and woodlands. Not once, as he crosses the room do his eyes fall upon me.
And yet surely I am now better worth regarding than on those first days at Hazelton, when he appeared so anxious to make me his own. It is the latter end of July, warm sultry, glorious July, and I am once more the Phyllis of old. My cheeks are round and soft and childlike as of yore, my eyes are bright and clear and have lost their unnatural largeness, my figure has regained its original healthy elasticity; yet Marmaduke heeds me not.
Suddenly, with some abruptness, and without turning to look at me, he says:—-
"Don't you think it would be an improvement to ask some people down here, eh? It might make things more cheerful for you. Just the old lot, you know."
So at last he has made an open confession of the dullness that I feel sure has been consuming him; he has discovered that a very little of my society, taken singly, would go a long way. Well, I too will let him see how gladly I shall welcome strangers to our hearth.
"I am so glad you mentioned it," I say, briskly; "I have been wishing of late for some break-in on our monotony. Harriet and Bebe will come, I feel sure, and, oh! poor little Chips, I had forgotten he is at present broiling in India; but Chandos will not refuse, I think; and Blanche Going, and Sir Mark Gore." These latter I add with some innocent malice.
"Sir Mark Gore is in Norway," replies 'Duke, stiffly.