“She’s only flirting with him,” he said.
Arthur laughed dryly.
“It’s more than that, I think, and so do the rest of the family. Ask Mrs. Van Santen.”
Indeed the old lady had been beaming benevolently upon the young people for some time, as Gerard knew. And the knowledge that Rachel was thus openly avowing her preference for and encouragement of the man whom he considered a “bounder” oppressed and irritated him in equal degree.
In vain he struggled against his uneasiness, his anger. And at last, afraid of trusting himself among the sharp eyes which could, he did not doubt, fathom the distress he was suffering, he withdrew from the party, and rejoined his own.
But the evening was heavy and gloomy for him, and he felt that his very presence was casting depression over his friends, so he presently excused himself, and leaving them, was hurrying out of the grounds, when he chanced to catch sight of the Americans once more, and saw Rachel, still with Denver in close attendance, but with a look in her eyes which he recognized as no longer one of idle amusement, but of acute anxiety.
A moment later, as he was close to the gates, he felt a touch on his arm, and looking round, found Arthur Aldington beside him.
“One moment, Buckland, Miss Davison sent me to say she would like to speak to you before you go away. If you’ll wait near the seat by the trees over there, she’ll find an opportunity of escaping, and I’ll bring her there myself.”
Gerard hesitated.
“She won’t be able to get rid of that Van Santen,” said he sullenly, as he glanced behind him.