She stood still at the window, but she no longer saw anything; she was blinded by her tears. She hardly heard the door of the drawing-room open, or, if she heard, she did not notice it. She did not turn her head when the door closed.
It was not until a hard voice, close to her, said dryly:
“Are you the young lady whom I met here before—who refused to take the warning I gave?” that Mabin, dashing away the tears from her blinded eyes, recognized in the erect figure standing beside her Mrs. Dale’s former mysterious visitor.
“I—I beg your pardon,” said Mabin hastily; “I—I did not see you come in. You want to see Mrs. Dale. I will go and tell her.”
“You need not take that trouble,” replied the majestic lady in the same hard tones as before. “She expects me. She sent for me by telegraph yesterday.” And following the glance Mabin threw across the lawn, she asked quickly, and in a harsher tone than ever: “Who is the young man with her?”
“Mr. Bonnington, the Vicar’s son,” answered Mabin in a low voice.
“And what is he doing here?”
“He’s a friend of Mrs. Dale’s, and a friend of mine too,” added the girl with the generous wish to save her friend from the anger she saw in the elder woman’s eyes. “I am engaged to him.”
“Engaged to him! Engaged to marry him!” repeated the other sharply. “And you trust him with that woman!”
Mabin’s loyalty was fired by the tone.