He scarcely looked at her,—he only glanced at the tender, quivering mouth, as if he did not wish to show how he was moved by her self-accusation; but across his face there flitted the smile which she knew so well.
"You have not offended me," he said, soothingly; "and how could I dare to sit in judgment on your strength of mind? I do not know, I will not attempt to discover, nor even to dispute, the estimate you must have formed of my character, my mode of thought, my temperament, to lead you to such a conclusion. The error has given me a moment of life which I shall certainly never forget. And now calm yourself, or rather permit me to exercise my office of physician." He took up the glass and offered it to her. "I was not seeking in this glass the quiet that you feared——" He stopped, and there was a moment's pause. "I had been carried away, mastered by irritation, passion, and that, too, in a sick-room. I could not forgive myself, did I not know that I, in common with the rest of us, have nerves and blood that will not always yield the mastership to my will. A few drops of this"—he pointed to the tiny vial—"will soothe nervous agitation."
She took the glass from his hand and obediently drained its contents.
"And now let me entreat your forgiveness for the wretched hour you have so lately passed. I am responsible for that miserable scene, for I might have prevented it by a few words spoken at the right time." He smiled, so bitterly, so sarcastically, that it went to the young girl's soul. "Those few of my friends who, from pure goodness of heart, have not quite dropped me, accuse me of a crushing quantity of beggarly pride, because I am not fond of prating of myself. This 'beggarly pride' has been a kind of Cassandra-curse to me. The world takes silence for incapacity, for want of judgment, and so people see no necessity for imposing moral constraint upon themselves in their dealings with me. I see men professing to be talented and intellectual commit the clumsiest blunders, and I can predict with mathematical precision their conduct under certain circumstances—ah, it is too disgusting!" He lightly stamped his foot upon the floor, and shook himself, as if to be rid of some vile reptile.
He was far from self-possessed; the indignant blood was still in commotion, and the frivolous creature whose wanton hand had so made discord in this harmonious nature smiled down from the wall in white Iphigenia robes, her hands calmly folded, her expression thoughtfully spiritual, almost holy. Then she had prized and sought his affection, his approval; then she had been determined to be the realization of his ideal, the beneficent fairy of the home of the future illustrious professor. She never could have fulfilled this determination: that home would have been merely the soil in which her greed of admiration would have flourished. He might have had a brilliant salon, but no home; an ambitious woman of the world to do the honours of his house, but no true, loving wife, no "sympathetic companion." He was no longer blind, and yet he would not release her. Or was the link at length broken, now that Flora had flung so boldly in his teeth her hatred of him? Kitty did not know what had occurred after her departure; but, whatever it had been, there was no longer any reason for her remaining here in his study.
The doctor noticed the dark look she cast at the picture, and now saw that she was preparing to leave the room.
"Yes, go," he said. "Henriette's maid has come, and is already established for the night. The state of the invalid is now such as to allow you to return to the villa easy in mind, to assist the Frau President, according to her desire, at her tea-table this evening. I give you my word that you need feel no anxiety. I will faithfully watch over your sick sister," he repeated, as she tried to protest against being sent away. "But give me your hand once more!" He held out his own, and she quickly and willingly laid hers in it. "And now, whatever may be said of me to you to-day, do not let it influence you to misjudge me. In a day or two she"—he did not mention her name, but nodded, with a bitter smile, towards Flora's picture—"will be of an entirely different mind; it is this knowledge that makes me firm. I cannot lay myself open to the reproach of having taken advantage of a—favourable moment."
She looked up at him entirely mystified, and he nodded significantly with a strange air of resignation, as if to say, "Yes, thus matters stand," but neither of them spoke a word. "Good-night, good-night," he said, immediately afterwards, and, with a light pressure, dropped her hand and turned to his writing-table, while she left the room. Involuntarily she looked round as she stood upon the threshold: he was, oddly enough, raising the empty glass to his lips, but, as he did so, it fell from his hand and was broken into a hundred fragments upon the floor.
In the sick-room she found Flora ready for departure, looking as if every fibre of her frame were thrilling with nervous excitement. "Where have you been, Kitty?" she said, crossly. "Grandmamma is waiting for us: it will be your fault if our tea is flavoured with reproaches."
Kitty did not reply. She threw over her shoulders the wrap which the maid had brought her, and went to the bedside. Henriette was sleeping quietly; the feverish colour was fading from her cheeks. The young girl gently breathed kiss after kiss upon the small transparent hand that lay relaxed upon the counterpane, and then followed her imperious sister.