There was another interlude in our conversation—they were pretty frequent in those days—and the subject dropped for a time. It recurred frequently, however, and gradually I perceived that whatever subject we discussed, sooner or later, Mannering's name was bound to crop up. At first I rather encouraged Evie to talk about him; but, after a while, I discovered that I was ministering to the feeling which I thought had been destroyed. I could not help but notice that, soon after Mannering's return, Evie's high spirits became subdued—her gaiety less spontaneous. Yet when I asked her whether Mannering's presence produced any effect upon her, she assured me to the contrary.
Nor did I see how Mannering could possibly exert any influence over her. I took particular care that he should never have a tête-à-tête with her. Sometimes she would not even see him for a couple of days at a time, and when she did, it would be merely for a few minutes, and nearly always in the presence of Colonel Maitland as well as myself.
It appeared to me, indeed, as if Mannering even took pains to avoid seeing much of her; and, though I watched him closely, his bearing was always studiously correct. He was the same insouciant person who had impressed me so favourably upon my first introduction to him. But whether it was owing to the distrust which Evie's fear of him had impressed upon me, or because I could really see things which had before been hidden from my sight, I certainly did observe about him certain singularities which I had never before remarked. I saw, for instance, that, in speaking of his face as a handsome mask, I had been nearer the truth than I had known. On more than one occasion, while his lips were parted in a genial smile, I observed in his eyes an expression strangely at variance therewith. It was the expression of a cat when it crouches to spring upon a mouse. I have seen that look bent upon my betrothed. I have caught it directed at myself. There was a restlessness, too, which gave the lie to his nonchalant manner. I could see that he forced himself to remain still. His fingers were always busy with something or other.
These were trifles, and equally trivial seemed the sarcasms which he directed at me now and again. These I attributed to the ebullitions of temper, natural enough in a defeated suitor. In my heart I pitied him, for I fancied I knew what a struggle it must have cost him to stand aside and watch a successful rival's happiness.
As the days passed, a certain constraint appeared to have arisen between Evie and myself. I told myself that the idea was foolish, and yet I knew that it was not so. Mind, I had not the slightest doubt as to the strength of Evie's love for me. She expressed it clearly, yet there was something drawing us apart, and I began to be afraid.
Towards the middle of June the tension became so great, that I could see the time had arrived when it would be necessary to do something; and, one night, I determined to mention the matter. Accordingly, after dinner, I persuaded Evie to come into the garden, with the intention to speak firmly in my mind. There, however, in the faint light of the summer night, with the sweet scent of the early roses filling the air, I forgot everything in the blissfulness of my lot. We had paced our favourite walk once in silence—my heart was too full of delight for speech—when, as we retraced our steps, to my surprise, Evie burst suddenly into passionate tears. Some minutes elapsed before I could calm her, and when I managed at last to do so, it needed all my powers of persuasion to get her to confide in me the cause of her outburst. At first she said it was nothing but the hysteria of happiness. Then she asked me, with a fierce clutch on my arm, if I should think her unmaidenly if she asked that our wedding-day should be hastened. We had fixed it for September, so I at once suggested July.
Her mood changed at once. She said she was not feeling well, and that I must not listen to her. But being now thoroughly alarmed at her obviously nervous condition, I questioned her until I elicited from her that all her old dread of Mannering had returned, and with double intensity, in that it was accompanied by a presentiment of disaster to myself.
"Jim," she said, looking up into my face with eyes which glowed in the faint light like stars, "I shall not feel sure of you until I am with you always. I want to be near you to look after you. Every moment you are absent from my side, I am imagining all sorts of horrible things happening to you. And it is worse to bear, because, it seems to me, that I am the cause of it all."
I strove to laugh away her fears, but, say what I would, I could not dispel the thought in her mind that some disaster threatened our love. Probing her mind for the foundation of her belief, I was not surprised to find that Mannering had something to do with it.
I did my best to make her mind easy, while determining that I would at once take steps to secure change of air and scene for her at some spot where my late rival should not come. She became tolerably composed at last, and I took her back to the drawing-room, where I was glad to find Mrs. Winter, in whom I recognized a most useful sedative for over-excited nerves.