“Yes, I will go,” she answered. “Mother has Christina now, she will not miss me. I will go, Grace, dear, and I will go to-morrow—this very day, if possible,” she added, hurriedly turning away to hide her face, but not before Grace had seen her tears.
And in effect, she did go that same day, and when Valentine came to the house, eager to catch a glimpse of her, he was told she had gone away.
It was Christina who announced Polly’s departure. Christina had her own way of telling him.
“We are rather low-spirited to-day, mother and I. We have lost our little Polly for a while,” she said, looking her loveliest, and very gentle and sweet to boot, in her widow’s cap and trailing black gown. “It has cost us a lot to part with her, but,” with a sigh, “I urged mother to let her go. The truth is—I feel I can speak to you on such a matter, for you are more than a friend—dear little Polly wanted to get away before the Kestridges arrive in town. They are coming over from Ireland to-morrow, and will of course be here a good deal. Hubert Kestridge does not exactly look like a man who could inspire a grande passion in any woman’s heart, does he?” Christina queried, softly, with a fleeting smile.
Valentine had a sharp pang through his heart.
He felt as though he had at last lighted on the true reason why Polly and he still stood so widely apart. But he had a sudden revulsion of feeling for Christina. All his old distrust of and dislike for her returned.
“I think,” he said, in his stiffest way, “I think, Lady Wentworth, you are wrong to tell me this. If it be true, it is your sister’s secret, and should be respected. Shall we go through these letters from your lawyers?”
Christina complied, biting her lip sharply to curb her anger.
She had made a false move, that she saw instantly; but such was the power of her vanity and her determination that she did not let this disturb her very much.
She could not gather very easily from Valentine’s manner whether his rebuke had come from an angry or from a hurt feeling.