As Cecil descended into the drawing-room that day before dinner, he was struck painfully by the sight of Violet on the sofa in exactly the same attitude—caressing Shot—as she had appeared to him on that afternoon when he had relinquished all idea of her. The coincidence affected him.
"There is a fate against my marrying into this family," he said to himself: "first one, and then the other."
Blanche was standing at the window, looking out. She turned her head towards him as he entered, and felt a little mortified to see him throw himself into a chair by the side of Rose, with whom he began a lively chat.
Captain Heath, who had watched this manœuvre, now looked at Blanche; but she, conscious of his gaze, avoided it, and again resumed her contemplation of the undulating lawn and woody distance.
Dinner was announced. Meredith Vyner, as usual, took Mrs. Langley Turner; Sir Harry Johnstone, Mrs. Vyner; and Tom Wincot, Violet. Cecil, to Rose's surprise, offered her his arm, which was natural enough, inasmuch as he had been talking to her up to that time; but still, as for many days he had invariably managed to take Blanche, she could not help remarking the circumstance.
Captain Heath walked up to Blanche, who remained at the window; her heart throbbing violently, her mind distracted with contradictory thoughts.
"Blanche," he said, tenderly, "we are the last."
"I shall not dine to-day," she said, angrily, hurt at the pity of his tone.
"My dear Blanche, do not betray yourself; do not give him reason to suppose his neglect can affect you."
She sighed, put her arm within his, and walked silently with him into the dining-room.