“He haunts me!” thought Gertrude to herself, as she recalled her sister’s words, and found that the Major persisted in walking by her side till they reached Chesham Place, where, murmuring his satisfaction that Renée seemed better, he left the sisters in the hall.
“All things come to the man who waits,” he muttered to himself, as he went off smiling.
“Renée,” said Gertrude, as soon as they were alone, “have you ever encouraged him in any way since your marriage? How is it he seems to have such a hold upon you?”
“I do not know—I cannot tell,” said Renée wearily, as, with brow contracted, she sat thinking of the scene in the Park. “But do not mention him—do not think of him, Gertrude dear; he is as nothing in face of this new misery.”
“New misery?” said Gertrude innocently.
“Yes,” cried Renée passionately; “do you not see? Oh, Frank, Frank!” she moaned, “why do you treat me so?”
Gertrude, upon whom all this came like a revelation, strove to comfort her, and to point out that her fears might be mere exaggerations, but her sister turned sharply.
“You do not understand these things, Gertrude,” she said. “He does not love me as he should, and, knowing this, Major Malpas has never ceased to try and tempt him away from me—to the clubs—to gambling parties, from which he comes home hot and feverish; and now it seems that worse is to follow. Oh, mother, mother! you have secured me an establishment which I would gladly change for the humblest cottage, if it contained my husband’s faithful love.”
Gertrude’s heart beat fast at these words, and a faltering purpose became strengthened.
“But, Ren darling,” she whispered; “have you spoken to him and tried to win him from such associations? Frank is so good at heart.”