“Oh, there is only one other, and he is interesting to me only,” she cried. “Yes, I found Mr. Airey’s card also waiting for me, and on it were scrawled almost the very words that were on Miss Craven’s card, so that he may be here at any moment.” Harold did not say a word. He sat watching her as her hands mingled with their sister-lilies on the table. Something cold seemed to have clasped his heart—a cold doubt that made him dumb.
“Yes,” she continued; “Mr. Airey asked me one night at Castle Innisfail to let him know where we should go after leaving Ireland.”
“Yes,” said he, in a slow way; “I heard him make that request of you.”
“You heard him? But you were taking part in the tableaux in the hall.”
“I had left the platform and had strayed round to one of the doors. You told him where you were going?”
“I told him that we should be in this house in October, and he said that he would make it a point to be in town early in October, though Parliament was not to sit until the middle of January. He has kept his word.”
“Yes, he has kept his word.”
Harold felt that cold hand tightening upon his heart. “I think that he was interested in me,” continued the girl. “I know that I was interested in him. He knows so much about everything. He is a close friend of yours, is he not?”
“Yes,” said Harold, without much enthusiasm. “Yes, he was a close friend of mine. You see, I had my heart set upon going into Parliament—upon so humble an object may one’s aspirations be centred—and Edmund Airey was my adviser.”
“And what did he advise you to do?” she asked.