Tom Wincot was leisurely dealing.
Violet was horribly conscious of her position, and gaining, in that consciousness, energy enough to subdue her emotion, with a trembling hand she replaced the book. As she did so, her eye encountered, for an instant, the piercing gaze of Mrs. Vyner. It was but a look, it lasted but an instant, but in that look what meaning was concentrated!
The duet was finished, and Mrs. Vyner was by Marmaduke's side, complimenting him on his singing, before Violet had recovered from the shock which that look had given her.
What a situation! Not only had she intercepted Mrs. Vyner's unmistakeable avowal, but she had been detected by her in the very act. The secret was not only discovered, but it was known to be discovered.
Violet, unable longer to remain in the room, retired quietly to indulge in her intense sorrow by herself.
With a sense of utter desolation she threw herself on a chair, her eyes fixed vacantly on the ground, her hurrying thoughts whirling round one object, restless, agitating, and feverish. She did not cry at first: it was more like stupor than grief; but as her ideas became clearer, they awakened her to anguish, and she wept.
She wept over the hopelessness of her love; she wept over the degradation of her lover. Low sobs burst from her, and the tears which rolled down her cheeks were unchecked.
A touch upon her hand startled her: it was the rough paw of her affectionate Shot, who had been seated by her side, looking sorrowfully in her face, sympathizing with her sorrow; finding himself unheeded, he had lifted his paw, and rested it upon her hand. She smiled mournfully upon him through her tears; he answered her with a plaintive whine, and rising upon his hind legs, thrust his shaggy head caressingly into her hand.
"My poor Shot!" she said, "you love me—you are not false!"
He whined again, and thrust his nose into her hand.