"It is my husband and Mrs. Gissing," she said, looking toward the strolling figures. "I suppose he is seeing her home. I heard her say not long ago she was tired. She hasn't been looking strong lately."
The indifference, being slightly overdone, annoyed her companion. No man likes having the door slammed in his sympathetic face. "She is looking extremely pretty, though," he replied coolly. "It softens her somehow. Don't you agree with me?"
There was a pause ere Kate Erlton replied; and then her eyes had found the far horizon instead of those lessening figures.
"I do. I think she looks a better woman than she did--somehow." She spoke half to herself with a sort of dull wonder in her voice. But the keenness of his, shown in his look at her, roused her reserve instantly. To change the subject would be futile; she had gone too far to make that possible if he wished otherwise, without that palpable refusal which would in itself be confession. So she asked him promptly if he would mind bringing her a glass of iced water, cup, anything, since she was thirsty after the strawberries; and when he went off reluctantly, took her retreat leaning over the balustrade, looking out to the eastern plains beyond the river; to that far horizon which in its level edge looked as if all or nothing might lie behind it. A new world, or a great gulf!
Three months! Three months since she had given up that chance, such as it was, on Christmas Day. And now her husband was honestly, truly in love with Alice Gissing. Would he have been as honestly, as truly in love with her if--if she could have forgotten? Had this really been his chance, and hers? Had it come, somehow? She did not attempt to deny facts; she was too proud for that It seemed incredible, almost impossible; but this was no Lucknow flirtation, no mere sensual liaison on her husband's part. He was in love. The love which she called real love, which, given to her, would, she admitted, have raised her life above the mere compromise from which she had shrunk. But he had never given it to her. Never. Not even in those first days. And now, if that chance had gone, what remained? What disgrace might not the future hold for her boy's father with a man like Mr. Gissing, in a country where the stealing of a man's wife from him was a criminal offense? Thank Heaven! Herbert was too selfish to risk--she turned and fled, as it were, from that cause for gratitude to find refuge in the certainty that Alice Gissing, at least, would not lose her head. But the chance the chance was gone.
"Miffes Erlton," came a little silvery voice behind her. "Oh, Miffes Erlton! He's giv-ded me suts a boo'ful birdie."
It was Sonny clasping a quail in both dimpled hands. His bearer was salaaming in rather a deprecatory manner, and a few paces off, strolling back from the stables with a couple of young bloods like himself, was Prince Abool-Bukr. All three with a furtive eye for Kate Erlton's face and figure.
"He giv-ded it to me be-tos it tumbied down, and everybody laughed," went on Sonny confidently. "And so I is do-ing to comfit birdie, and 'ove it."
"Sonny," exclaimed Kate, suddenly aghast, "what's that on your frock-- down your arm?"
It was blood. Red, fresh-spilled blood! She was on her knees beside him in instant coaxing, comforting, unclasping his hands to see where they were hurt. The bird fell from them fluttering feebly, leaving them all scarlet-stained with its heart's blood, making Sonny shriek at the sight, and hide face and hands in her muslin skirts. She stood up again, her cheeks ablaze with anger, and turned on the servant.