“I do not need the counsel, believe me.”
Her hand trembled, though it rested against the window-trembled with indignation: the insult of his elopement kept beating up her throat in spite of her.
At that moment a servant knocked, entered, and said that a parcel had been brought for mademoiselle. It was laid upon the table. Delia, wondering, ordered it to be opened. A bundle of clothes was disclosed—Andree’s! Gaston recognised them, and caught his breath with wonder and confusion.
“Who has sent them?” Delia said to the servant. “They come from the Chateau Ronan, mademoiselle.”
Delia dismissed the servant.
“The Chateau Ronan?” she asked of Gaston. “Where I am living.”
“It is not necessary to speak of this?” She flushed.
“Not at all. I will have them sent back. There is a little shop near by where you can get what you may need.”
Andree had acted according to her lights. It was not an olive-branch, but a touch of primitive hospitality. She was Delia’s enemy at sight, but a woman must have linen.
Mr. Gasgoyne entered. Gaston prepared to go. “Is there anything more that I can do?” he said, as it were, to both.