My predictions, however, with respect to Miss Anstruther were not verified. She looked very handsome this evening in a sweeping white dress (‘handsome’ is the correct term of her style of beauty; no one could call her ‘pretty,’ like Janie for instance, but she certainly looks handsome, particularly by candle-light), but nothing prevailed to make her sociable; neither my champagne nor my wife’s coaxing could induce her to talk or sing as she did last night. She spoke in monosyllables, and professed herself too tired for any display; and the five men whom I had asked to dine with us sat alternately talking to my wife, and staring at her guest, until the time for their departure had arrived. Janie sung us two or three ballads in her sweet plaintive little voice, but we had heard them before, of course, and should have been glad of something new. But all our pressing and entreaty were in vain. Miss Anstruther said she was too fatigued to sing; and declining even to sit amongst the company, stood by a window gazing out upon the night. Presently, almost too vexed at her singular behaviour to remember my politeness, I approached her side, and said, perhaps rather abruptly,—
‘Why won’t you sing for us?’
‘Because I don’t choose,’ she answered, fearlessly.
‘I thought so,’ I said; and turning away I quitted her again, and took a seat by Janie’s side. But after a while some fascination, for which I am unable to account (but which has been felt at times by all people who on earth do dwell), made me feel that Miss Anstruther was regarding me, and lifting my eyes, I encountered the glance of hers fixed on my face. She withdrew them quickly; but not before their gaze had made me feel uncomfortable—a sensation which I attribute to the fact of their colour, which I have never liked, and believe I never shall.
The rest of the evening passed dully enough, and I am sure Janie was as relieved as I was when our friends rose to take their leave, and Miss Anstruther disappeared in the privacy of her own room.
‘You can’t say that Mademoiselle Lionne has made herself very agreeable to-night,’ I exclaimed rather triumphantly, as Janie and I found ourselves alone.
But Janie was hardly a subject to be triumphed over, she was so very humble and apologetic.
‘I can’t think what is the matter with her, Robert dear; but I assure you she is not sulky. Only this moment she put her arms round my neck and kissed me—oh, so nicely! but I don’t think she likes dinner-parties. We won’t give another.’
‘Not like dinner-parties!’ I exclaimed.
‘No—nor men. She told me she wouldn’t sit in the drawing-room to-morrow morning.’