“I will take you, if you wish it; but, my child, you had better not go. If you were to see them together again, it would break your heart.”
“Oh, no; my heart is not so tender as that, George!” said she, wearily. “Let us make haste.”
She was afraid of her strength giving way again if there was any more delay. So he took her down, across the course, and in and out among the carriages until they came in sight of the one she was in search of. Harry was no longer beside the drag; but there sat Muriel, her complexion carefully made up, and dressed with more extravagance than good taste; and in her ears were the ear-rings and at her throat was the brooch which Annie had sent to Harry to help him out of his difficulties a week before.
She turned away quickly, and whispered to George, clinging to him like a child, and with a little tremor in her voice:
“Now let us go away—let us go away—as fast—as we can—straight back home!”
She bore up bravely all the way to the station and during the journey in the train; but when they were driving along together in a hansom, she said suddenly:
“Talk about the races, George, please.”
But he could not, for there was a lump in his throat, and all he could say, as a lift to the conversation, was:
“Curse him!”