Volume Two—Chapter Twenty One.
Duncan Leslie Speaks out.
Duncan Leslie was standing at a table on which was a photograph of Louise, as she entered the room silently; and as, after a long contemplation of the counterfeit, he drew a long breath, and looked up to see the object of his thoughts standing just inside the doorway, too much agitated to give notice of her presence, he coloured like a boy caught in some act of which he was ashamed.
“Miss Vine,” he cried, advancing quickly with extended hands.
Louise did not speak, but slowly raised one hand for him to take, and suffered him to lead her to a chair.
He remained standing before her as the looked up at him in a wild, frightened manner, as if imploring him not to speak, and for a few moments silence reigned.
“You will forgive me,” said Leslie, at last, “if my visit is ill-timed, for I am a busy man, ill-versed in the etiquette of such matters. I was in a dilemma. I wished to try and show my sympathy, and I was afraid to stay away for fear of seeming neglectful.”
“Mr Leslie need have been under no apprehension,” said Louise slowly, and speaking as if sorrow had exhausted itself, and there was nothing left but resignation. “My father and I have thought very deeply, and can never be sufficiently grateful for all that has been done.”
“You have suffered so,” he said in a low voice, “that I am going to beg of you not to refer to the past. Of course, I know,” he added quickly, “how easy it is to speak platitudes—how hard to express what one feels at a time like this.”