"If you'd lived in New York, Miss Nan, I guess you wouldn't call this a hot day," said Josiah Dicks; "I wonder what Pollie would say to it. Do you know that she is sitting up to-day? I saw her, bless her heart! And she waved her hand to her old dad from the window."
"Yes, I know. Auntie told me. I am so glad," I said, trying hard to seem glad, while I secretly felt as if gladness and I had parted company for ever. Then I went away. My bedroom, unfortunately, was no longer a place of refuge for me, so I turned into Paulina's deserted room, which had been thoroughly disinfected after she quitted it. I sat down, and tried to review the situation calmly; but my thoughts were like goads, and soon drove me to pacing the floor in a restless anguish which sought relief in movement. I was angry with Alan Faulkner and angry with myself. What right had he to leap to the conclusion that I was attracted by Ralph Marshman? It was intolerable that he should imagine him to be my lover. My face burned with shame as I thought of it, and I reproached myself bitterly for the ill-considered action which had placed me in such a false position. That he should think it necessary to warn me that the man was unworthy!
My mind found no relief as I recalled all that had passed between us. I had said not a word that could remove the impression which he had received. Now that it was too late, I thought of many a neatly-turned, significant phrase which might have convinced him of his mistake without revealing my cousin's folly. Why had I dumbly submitted to the imputation? Why had the few words I had uttered been so passionately incoherent? Ah! I knew but too well how it was. The discovery that he had so misunderstood me dealt me a blow which deprived me of the power to defend myself. No one's good opinion would I less willingly lose than that of Alan Faulkner. And I had lost it—lost it, as I feared, for ever, through my own blind folly!
The sound of the dressing-bell roused me from my bitter musings. Wearily, heavily I went to prepare for dinner. It is no exaggeration to say that I felt at that hour as if I could never know happiness, or even comfort, again.
Agneta was already dressed when I entered our room. Her face was flushed. She looked pretty and excited. Her mood too had changed. She persisted in discussing all kinds of trifles with me as I made my toilette, till in my irritation I could hardly refrain from bidding her hold her tongue. And this was the girl who had seemed broken-hearted a little while before! I reflected that she could have no depth of character. Her tears had arisen from mere surface emotion. She could not really care greatly for Ralph Marshman. And it was for the sake of such a one that I was stung with sharpest self-reproach and suffered such a cruel sense of loss. I was far from loving my cousin as I followed her downstairs that evening.
My head ached, and I had little appetite as I seated myself at the table. I saw aunt glance at me and then at Agneta, who had quite regained her spirits, and was chatting with Colonel Hyde. When I ventured to turn my eyes on Alan Faulkner it struck me that he looked grave and stern. Beyond making a few remarks to Aunt Patty in a subdued tone, he contributed little to the conversation. Once I caught a searching glance from him, beneath which my eyes sank involuntarily.
The next moment an indignant sense of the injustice of his judgment rallied my spirit. Why should I be ashamed, when I had no true cause for shame? If I had acted unwisely in meeting Ralph Marshman in the wood, my intention had been good. I had done nothing that I should fear to confess to mother. Oh, how I longed for the time when I could tell her all about it!
With that I lifted my head, and, making a desperate effort to appear lighthearted, I began to talk with Mr. Dicks. A strange mood took possession of me, and I laughed and talked with a flippancy of which I was afterwards heartily ashamed. My liveliness outran Agneta's. I said such foolish things that aunt looked at me in astonishment. I believe she thought I had caught Paulina's fever. I could not have acted more foolishly. I was taking the best means of confirming the ill opinion of me I believed Alan Faulkner had formed. The cloud on his brow darkened. He appeared to pay little heed to what was passing about him, yet instinct told me that he heard every word I uttered. When dessert was placed on the table, he asked Aunt Patty to excuse him, as he had some work he wanted to finish. He went away, and the burden of despondency settled again upon my spirit, more intense than before.
I had never been so wretched as I was that night. I was entangled in a mesh of adverse circumstances from which I was powerless to extricate myself. I lay down feeling sure that there could be little sleep for me. Throughout the hours of the night the same poignant thoughts tortured me. Yet I was not without hope. Surely the morrow must bring relief. I determined to make an effort to right myself in Alan Faulkner's estimation. He had, I knew, accepted Mrs. Canfield's invitation to her garden party. During the hours we should spend in those beautiful grounds, I could hope to find an opportunity of saying a few quiet words to Alan Faulkner, which, without compromising Agneta would convince him that Ralph Marshman was no friend of mine.
Round this idea my thoughts finally gathered as the weary night passed away. Agneta's restless movements made me doubt if she were sleeping much more than I, but I never addressed a word to her. I found it hard to forgive her for the mischief she had wrought.