This was the cruellest blow of all. That the deceitful woman who could pretend to be so miserable at one moment, and could throw off her grief so lightly the next, should have taken Rudolph and caused him to forget the girl he pretended to care for so much! Mabin watched them with a face wrinkled with despair, until her tears hid them from sight. But even then, Mrs. Dale’s voice, always gay, always bright, rang in her ears to the accompaniment of Rudolph’s deeper tones.
The girl, however, was not weak-minded enough to cry for long. The sound of the voices had scarcely died away when she sprang to her feet, bathed her face, and did her best to hide the traces of her grief. Pride had come to her assistance. She would show them both that she did not care; that Mrs. Dale might amuse herself with Rudolph, might carry him off altogether if she pleased, and she would not break her heart about it.
She was ready to go downstairs, and was crossing the room for that purpose, when there came a little tap at the door, and Mrs. Dale’s voice cried:
“May I come in?”
For answer Mabin turned the handle, and her friend, looking at her inquiringly, tripped into the room with a little affected air of penitence.
“I’m so sorry I was cross, dear, just now. Will you forgive me? I was worried, and unhappy—and—— But I’m better now, and so I’ve come to ask you to forgive me, and to come down to tea.”
She slid her arm round the girl’s waist. But Mabin could not disguise the change in her own feelings, which she could not help. She drew herself away with a laugh.
“I’m glad you are happier, and—and better,” she said stiffly. “I thought you were, when I saw you just now in the kitchen-garden.”
Mrs. Dale looked up at her mischievously.
“Why, you silly child, you have been making yourself miserable. It is of no use for you to try to deny it,” said she. “I believe you are jealous, Mabin. You would not be, dear, if you knew all about it.”