Meanwhile, Elinor Leyton, having blindly found her way out of the Red House, hailed a passing hansom, and gave the driver directions to take her to a certain number in Harley Street, where Margaret Pullen was staying with her godfather, Doctor Phillips. She knew no one else to whom she could go in this great trouble, which made her feel as if her life had suddenly been cut in two. Yet she made no outward moan. Most young women having kept a bold front, as she had done, towards the enemy, would have broken down, as soon as they found themselves alone. But Elinor Leyton was not in the habit of breaking down. As soon as she had started for her destination, she leaned her head upon the back of the cab, closed her eyes and set her teeth fast together. Her face grew deadly pale, and an observer would have noted the trembling of her lips, and the ball which rose and fell in her throat. But she uttered no sound, not even a sigh—her misery was too deep for words.
Since she had returned to London, Margaret Pullen had stayed with Doctor Phillips, for he had insisted that it should be so. The telegram which had conveyed to Colonel Pullen the news of his little daughter’s death, had been answered by one to say that he had applied for immediate leave, and should join his wife as soon as he received it. And Margaret was now expecting his arrival, every day—almost every hour. She looked very sad in her deep mourning dress, as she came forward to greet Elinor, but as soon as she caught sight of her visitor’s face, she forgot her own trouble in her womanly sympathy for her friend.
“My dear Elinor!” she exclaimed, “what has brought you to town? You have bad news for me—I can read it in your eyes. Nothing wrong with Ralph, I hope!”
She kissed the girl affectionately, and held her hand, but Elinor did not answer. She turned her white face towards her friend, and bit her lips hard, but the words would not come.
“You are suffering, my poor dear,” went on Margaret, tenderly, as she made her sit down, and removed her hat and cloak. “Can’t you trust me with your trouble? Haven’t I had enough of my own? Ah! cry, that’s better. God sends us tears, in order that our hearts may not break! And now, what is it? Is anyone ill at home?”
Elinor shook her head. The tears were rolling slowly one by one, down her marble cheeks, but she jerked them away as they came, as though it were a shame to weep.
After a long pause, she swallowed something in her throat and commenced in a husky voice:
“It concerns Ralph, Margaret! He has been untrue to me! All is over between us!”
“Oh! surely not!” said Margaret, “have you had a full explanation with him? Who told you he had been untrue? Has Ralph asked for a release from his engagement?”
“No! but he shall have it!”