Hemstead could not discover from Lottie's face whether she meant a covert allusion to himself or not.
Harcourt drove over to town, promising to be back in time. The other young people said that the long drive had made them drowsy, and retired to their rooms for a nap. Hemstead went to the parlor and tried to read, but his thoughts wandered strangely. The beautiful face of Lottie Marsden haunted him, and the puzzling contradictions of her words and manner kept rising in his mind for solution. After a prolonged revery, he came to the conclusion: "I have left nothing ambiguous about myself. If she is friendly after this she knows just who and what I am. It's plain the others think me no addition to their company, and I'm almost sorry I accepted aunt's invitation. However, I can shorten the visit if I choose;" and he turned resolutely to his book.
Instead of donning her wrapper, as did Bel, Lottie sat down before the fire, and, as was often her custom, commenced half-talking to her friend and familiar, and half-thinking aloud to herself.
"Well, he is the frankest and most transparent man I ever saw. I have been acquainted with him but a few hours, and I feel that I know him better than I do Julian, with whom I have been intimate so many years."
"He's sincerely, honestly good, too," said Bel. "I think it's too bad, Lottie, that you all treat him so. It's really wicked."
"Yes," said Lottie, meditatively. "It's a good deal more wicked than I thought it would be."
"Then you will give it up."
"No indeed. I haven't said that."
"How can you do it, Lottie, when you know it is wrong?"
"I knew it was wrong when I commenced. I only know now that it is a little more wrong. Why should I give up my fun on that account? I might as well die for an old black sheep as a speckled lamb."