“I hope I am!” said Miss Fane, in rather a serious tone. “I wish I could also he mistaken in my suspicions of the mode in which Albert spends his time. He is sadly changed. For the first month that we were here he seemed to prefer nothing in the world to our society, and now—I was nearly saying that we had not seen him for one single evening these three weeks. I cannot understand what you find at this house of such absorbing interest. Although I know you think I am much mistaken in my suspicions, still I feel very anxious. I spoke to Albert to-day; but he scarcely answered me; or said that which it was a pleasure for me to forget.”
“Mr. St. George should feel highly gratified in having excited such an interest in the mind of Miss Fane.”
“He should not feel more gratified than all who are my friends; for all who are such I must ever experience the liveliest interest.”
“How happy must those be who feel that they have a right to count Miss Fane among their friends!”
“I have the pleasure then, I assure you, of making many happy, and among them, Mr. Grey.”
Vivian was surprised that he did not utter some complimentary answer; but he knew not why, the words would not come; and instead of speaking, he was thinking of what had been spoken.
“How brilliant are these gardens!” said Vivian, looking at the sky.
“Very brilliant!” said Miss Fane, looking on the ground. Conversation seemed nearly extinct, and yet neither offered to turn back.
“Good heavens! you are ill,” exclaimed Vivian, when, on accidentally turning to his companion, he found she was in tears. “Shall we go back, or will you wait here? Can I fetch anything? I fear you are very ill!”
“No, not very ill, but very foolish; let us walk on,” and, sighing, she seemed suddenly to recover.