Arriving at the Hall, he was ushered into the empty drawing room. The open windows gave a pleasant view of the sunlit lawn. Gladys's music was scattered untidily on the grand piano, her fan lay on a chair, and he spied, too, the quaint little bag in which she kept a pretence of fancy work. His quick eyes had but time to note these ere Aldyth entered.
She was very pale; her eyes had the strained look of sleeplessness, her expression was anxious. It struck Guy that Aldyth was losing her good looks; she looked older; her charms would not bear comparison with those of Gladys. Then he saw what her left hand held, and his heart leaped within him.
"Good morning, Guy," said Aldyth, without giving him her hand; "I am glad you came at once."
"You have news for me."
"Yes," said Aldyth, her lips trembling nervously, "I have a painful confession to make. We have wronged you sadly, Guy. We had no right to live at Wyndham; it was never mine. Here is uncle's latest will."
"You have found it!" he exclaimed with eagerness.
He took it from her and unfolded it with trembling hands. The colour rose in his face as he read. Aldyth, watching him, saw with a sinking heart that he had failed to take in the meaning of her words. All he had grasped was the fact of his heirship. At last he turned to her, his face glowing with a satisfaction he vainly tried to veil.
"This is a strange turning of the tables, Aldyth."
"Yes," she said uneasily.
He could not wonder that she looked ill and troubled. It was hard on her, of course. Yet in truth she had given no thought to the considerations which he imagined must disturb her. "I am sorry for your sake, Aldyth."