And then, after six weeks of pleasant country life, disturbed indeed now and then by recollections of Rachel, and vague longings to see her again and to probe the mysterious depths of her wayward nature, he returned to town, and straightway fell deeper into the toils than ever.
It happened in this way. Gerard was with a party of his country friends and relations at the Earl’s Court Exhibition one evening, and had just finished dining with them at one of the restaurants, when, as he smoked a cigarette by himself outside, he caught sight of Rachel Davison and Denver Van Santen, walking slowly together. The young man was talking very earnestly, and bending down to look into her face, while Rachel, as far as Gerard could see, was listening to him without displeasure.
In an instant all his good resolutions, his wise resignation, disappeared. He was filled with the maddest jealousy of the handsome American; and no amount of philosophical sneers at women availed him when he looked at the girl who, after an absence of six weeks, seemed to him ten times handsomer than she had ever looked before.
Her black dress, of some clinging material, richly embroidered with black chenille and jet, had long sleeves and a vest of tucked chiffon of the palest pink; and her large black hat, trimmed with a cluster of black ostrich tips and with one pale pink rose under the brim, suited her handsome face to perfection.
A cape of some soft black material, lined with tucked pink chiffon, completed her costume, which, as usual with her, was carefully studied down to the well-cut, high-heeled black shoes and black silk stockings, and the glimpse of a pale pink underskirt trimmed with chiffon of the same color that was shown as she held up her dress.
In vain Gerard told himself that he was glad to have seen her with Denver Van Santen, that now he could go his way with an easy mind, secure in the knowledge that Rachel Davison was merely a friend and accomplice of thieves, shop-lifters, and other undesirable persons, and that the very fact of her allowing herself to be made love to by this swaggering gamester proved conclusively how unfit she was to be loved by any honest man.
The fiercer he grew as he told himself these things, the more savagely he watched the two as they sauntered among the people, and at last joined a large group, among whom Gerard recognized the pale face and simple gray silk gown of Cora Van Santen, and the homely features of her mother, who, good soul, looked more out of place than ever, in her old-fashioned large bonnet and heavy dolman, among the crowds of well-dressed women around her.
As before at the Priory, the family was surrounded by smart English people, of whom Gerard recognized two or three. One was Sir William Gurdon, who was talking eagerly to Delia, and another was Arthur Aldington, who could not tear himself away from Cora.
Gerard watched them from a distance, but did not go near them.
He saw that Denver could not leave Rachel’s side, and that she, instead of resenting his persistent attentions, appeared to be encouraging him.