Close beside her he found, among others, Cecil Jones and Miss Davison. He could see that, although they said little to each other, there was some secret understanding between the two, and he was maddened at the thought that she had already broken her oath, and that she was using Jones as a go-between to carry to the Van Santens her knowledge that there would be a detective in the house that day to watch their proceedings.
Gerard would fain have believed such an artful evasion of her oath impossible to Miss Davison, but in the face of all that he suspected this was scarcely credible.
But even at that moment the thought which troubled him the most was that Rachel cared for Cecil Jones, that he was more than an accomplice, more than a friend, that he was her confidant, and her lover.
Nay, the thought darted into his mind with a most poignant rush that perhaps he might be her husband, and that, if not, he was probably already her fiancé.
On that point he thought that she might perhaps be more candid than upon the other, if taxed, and at the first opportunity he followed her into the corner of the room where she had seated herself, in sight of the nearest card-table in the end room, on the one hand, and of the figure of Cora seated at the piano, on the other.
There was a seat near her, and he stood with one knee on it, as he bent down and asked—
“Will you answer me a question truly, honestly, Rachel, a question about yourself—and—someone else?”
“I can’t promise,” said she, in a low voice, with, as he thought, a quick, self-conscious glance towards Cecil Jones.
From the adjoining room, where Denver and some other men were playing cards, came a reminder, in Denver’s voice, of the other man of whom he had been jealous, but whose chances Gerard now rejected, as he could not believe that Miss Davison could have given her heart to a card-sharper, who was also something worse.
“I want to know whether this Jones is engaged to you?”