The Dutchman continued to smile.
[CHAPTER VI.]
WHAT MR. SCARSE ADMITTED.
For the next week Brenda lived in a state of bewilderment. Everything seemed to go wrong. Her father did not return, but wrote that his things were to be sent on to London, and that Brenda herself was to leave the cottage in charge of Mrs. Daw, and come up in a fortnight's time. Van Zwieten bowed himself out of Chippingholt without having told her of his interview with Harold. With his usual cunning, he had left Harold himself to do that; but Harold, leaving a message for Brenda that he was suddenly recalled to his regimental duties, had himself left by a later train, without either explanation or word of farewell.
Brenda was hopelessly at a loss to understand her lover's action, and in her despair sought Lady Jenny.
It was a week after the inquest, and the two women were seated in Lady Jenny's boudoir, a pleasant rose-hued room which looked out on to a Dutch garden. The usual verdict of willful murder against some person or persons unknown had been brought in by the usual opaque country jury, directed by a not over-intelligent coroner. Gilbert Malet's body had been laid away in the family vault, and Lady Jenny was utilizing for her husband the mourning she had worn for her father.
Brenda was paying her now a visit of condolence; but Lady Jenny showed clearly by her manner and curt speech that she stood in no need of sympathy. It was amazing to see the change that had taken place in her since her husband's death. Formerly she had been a gay, frivolous little woman, with ever a smile on her face; now Brenda found her a small image of stone, as hard, and every whit as cold. She could scarcely believe it was the same woman.
Finding that her sympathetic references to the dead man were received with coldness, Brenda tactfully changed the conversation. She mentioned her own anxiety about Harold's abrupt departure, and found Lady Jenny quite ready to talk on that subject. She loved Brenda and admired Harold, and wished to see them married. Consequently she was only too glad to smooth down Brenda's feathers, which were a good deal ruffled by her lover's strange behavior.
"My dear, you know a soldier's time is not his own," she said. "I expect Harold got a telegram, and had just time to pack and catch the first train."
"He should have sent for me," said Brenda; "I should have seen him off at the station."