She failed in her object for all her bravado. The eyes she sought to blind saw too clearly.
"So Louisa comes to-morrow," she said lightly, as, after keeping all the men, her husband included, at her feet during the evening, she rose to say good-night and let her hand linger purposely in her cousin's, so that he should see she did not care, that she was not afraid.
"No!" he replied coldly; "I've had another wire. She came as far as Portree, and, hearing that the gathering is next week, decided to stay and show off her new dresses. She got about a ton of them in Paris if you remember, and women, even the best of them, love to show off."
His tone roused her to reckless resentment by its assumption of knowledge and condemnation.
"He does not look very sorry for his wife's decision, does he, professor?" she asked with a laugh.
"My dear lady, how could he be sorry for anything, in his present position?"
"Or I in mine?" she retorted, giving a little mock curtsey over the hand she still held.
Eustace Gordon bit his lip, but said nothing.
[IV]
"You look worried," said Will Lockhart; "the place doesn't suit you. I told you it wouldn't when we hid behind Charity. Is there anything really the matter?" his voice took a softer tone, "anything I could help you to set straight?"