“You won’t do that!” cried Mabin, starting back, and seeing with surprise in the fair, blue-eyed face an expression of strong resolution. “After pretending you were so glad to have me!”
“It was no pretence, believe me!” said Mrs. Dale with a sad little smile. “But I have got to send you away all the same. It would not be right to keep you here, now that I see the persecution I am to be subjected to still.” And her blue eyes flashed angrily as she spoke. But the next moment her face changed again, and she added quickly, “I have deserved it all. More than all. I am not complaining of that; I have no right to complain. Only—she might have spared you. I should have done you no harm; you would have learnt no evil from me, wicked as I am.”
The girl interrupted her, with a frightened face, and speaking in an eager whisper:
“Oh, hush, hush! You are not wicked. It is dreadful to hear you say such things! I will not let you say them. You have the kindest heart in the world; if you have ever done wrong, you are sorry, bitterly sorry. Wicked people are never sorry. Let me stay with you and comfort you if I can, by showing you how happy it makes me to be with you!”
Mrs. Dale shook her head. She did not, however, repeat in words her resolve that Mabin must go, though the girl guessed by the expression of her face that her mind was made up on the subject.
They stood silently looking out at the soft beauties of the twilight, the greens as they melted into grays blending in such a tender harmony of color that the sight seemed to supply a balm, through tear-dimmed eyes, to their heavy hearts; the scent of the roses came to them across the broad space of gravel, too, mingled with the pleasantly acrid perfume of the limes.
Rudolph’s step, as he took advantage of the silence to thrust himself again upon the notice of the ladies, startled them both.
“Now you’ve spoilt it all!” cried Mrs. Dale, in a tone which was meant to be one of light-hearted pleasantry, but which betrayed too plainly the difficulty she had in assuming it. “The garden looked like a fairy picture till you rushed in and ruined the perspective. Aren’t you going to apologize?”
“No. The picture wanted human interest, so I painted myself into the canvas, just to satisfy your artistic susceptibilities. I am sorry to find you so ungrateful. I hope you, Mabin, have more appreciation?”
But the girl’s eyes were full of tears, and not being used to this light strain of talk, she could not answer, except by a few mumbled words which had neither sense nor coherence. Mrs. Dale put up her hand—she had to stretch it up a long way—and smoothed the girl’s pretty brown hair.