It was horrible; he was making love to her, this wretch, whom she despised. She turned her head away to hide the angry look in her eyes.
“Thanks–no, if you do not mind,” said she. “I do not care to receive confidences,–I always forget to forget them.” It was not in order that Pocock Vancouver might make love to her that she had sent away Bonamy Biggielow, the harmless little poet. She wished him back again, but he was embarked in an enterprise to dispute with Johnny Hannibal a place near Miss St. Joseph. Mrs. Wyndham had long since disappeared.
“Will you please take me back to my aunt?” said Joe. As they passed from the supper-room they suddenly came upon John Harrington, who was wandering about in an unattached fashion, apparently looking for some one. He bowed and stared a little at seeing Joe on Vancouver’s arm, but she gave him a look of such earnest entreaty that he turned and followed her at a distance to see what would happen. Seeing her sit down by her aunt, he came up and spoke to her, almost thrusting Vancouver aside with his broad shoulders. Vancouver, however, did not dispute the position, but turned on his heel and went away.
“Oh, I am so glad,” said Joe, with a sigh of relief. “I thought I should never get away from him!”
It is amazing what a difference the common knowledge of a secret will make in the intimacy of two people.
“I was rather taken aback at seeing you with him,” said John. “Not that it can make any difference to you,” he added quickly, “only you seemed so angry at him this morning.”
“But it does”–Joe began, impulsively. “That is, I began by meaning to cut him, and then I thought it would be a mistake to make a scandal.”
“Yes,” said John, “it would be a great mistake. Besides, I would not for all the world have you take a part in this thing. It would do no good, and it might do harm.”
“I think I have taken a part already,” said Joe, somewhat hurt.
“Yes, I know. I am very grateful, but I hope you will not think any more about it, nor allow it to influence you in any way.”