But the firmness with which he told himself that he was glad, and that now he could whistle her off and leave her to her undesirable friends, soon left him; and on the very first opportunity, when he saw Rachel for a moment on the outside of the crowd formed by the Americans and their friends, he pounced upon her, and suddenly presenting himself like a brigand rather than a casually met friend, said between his clenched teeth—
“I must speak to you. I will.”
He expected to be snubbed, to be dismissed more or less coldly; but, to his surprise, Rachel turned very white, as she always did when excited, and then flushed a little, and said—
“Very well. We can come back to Mrs. Van Santen afterwards.”
She walked away with him at a rapid pace, so that they were soon lost to the sight of her friends, and mingling in the general crowd.
The night was fine and warm, and the gardens were full. It was without the slightest difficulty that they got the opportunity Gerard wanted, of speaking to her from the depths of his heart.
“Why do you let that fellow talk to you? Do you care for him?” he asked, conscious as he spoke that he was using a tone which, considering all the circumstances, was as unjustifiable as it was absurd.
“I couldn’t help his talking to me, Mr. Buckland. I was staying with his people before I went abroad with my mother, and I am visiting them again now.”
“Do you care for him?”
“I like them all; and as for Mr. Denver, he wants me to marry him.”