“I didn’t win it,” said the other, surlily.
“Not win it? Why, I saw you!”
“I—tell—you—I—didn’t—win—it,” said Harry, savagely. “I kissed her—like a beastly cad—and she looked as if I had killed her.”
He turned round quickly and made for the house. His brother followed.
“Here, but I say, Harry——”
The other paid no attention, but disappeared into the house.
But the consequences of the act were not over. When tea-time came, and, having bathed her red and swollen eyes, Miss Lane appeared in the family circle, a deadlier chill than usual was evidently upon them. Joan looked like an ugly statue of disgust or some kindred emotion; Betty’s cheeks were flushed, and her pretty vacant eyes bright with anger; Mrs. Mainwaring was cold and nervous; the Rev. Mr. Mainwaring, above all human passions, was quietly attentive to his tea and toast, as usual. The governess’ heart sunk.
After tea, when she had said “Good-night” in an agony under this frigidity, Mrs. Mainwaring followed her into the hall and asked her to come into the schoolroom for a few minutes. After closing the door with ominous carefulness, the elder lady faced her victim.
“I am very sorry to have to say anything of this kind to you, Miss Lane; but I must ask whether there is any sort of engagement between you and Mr. Harry Braithwaite?”
“None, Mrs. Mainwaring,” said the girl, white to the lips.