At that moment the maid entered the room, so he gave no answer, only made a few remarks about the manner of his mother’s journey back to town and kissed her in good-bye.
When the maid had left again Mrs. Ullershaw, as was her custom, said her prayers, offering up petitions long and earnest for the welfare of her beloved only son, and that the woman whom he had chosen might prove a blessing to him. But from those prayers she could take no comfort, they seemed to fall back upon her head like dead things, rejected, or unheard, she knew not which. Often she had thought to herself how happy she would be when Rupert came to tell her that he had chosen a wife, yet now that he had chosen, she was not happy.
Oh, she would tell the truth to her own heart since it must never pass her lips. She did not trust this gay and lovely woman; she thought her irreligious, worldly, and self-seeking; she believed that she had engaged herself to Rupert because he was the heir to a peerage and great wealth, distinguished also; not because she loved him. Although her son was of it, she hated the stock whence Edith sprang; as she knew now, from the first Ullershaw, who founded the great fortunes of the family, in this way or that they had all been bad, and Edith, she was certain, had not escaped that taint of blood. Even in Rupert, as the adventure of his youth proved, it was present, and only by discipline and self-denial had he overcome his nature. But Edith and self-denial were far apart. Yes; a cold shadow fell upon her prayers, and it was cast by the beautiful form of Edith—Edith who held Rupert’s destiny in her hands.
Within a few feet of her Rupert also offered up his petitions, or rather his paean of thanksgiving and praise for the glory that had fallen from Heaven upon his mortal head, for the pure and beautiful love which he had won that should be his lamp through life and in death his guiding-star.
A while after Rupert had gone, half an hour perhaps, Edith, noticing that Dick had left the hall, as she thought to see off the last of the departing guests, took the opportunity to slip away to bed since she wished for no more of his company that night. Yet she was not destined to escape it, for as she passed the door of the library on her way up stairs, that same room in which Rupert had proposed to her, she found Dick standing there.
“Oh,” he said, “I was looking for you. Just come in and tell me if this belongs to you. I think you must have left it behind.”
Carelessly, without design or thought, she stepped into the room, whereon he closed the door, and as though by accident placed himself between it and her.
“Well, what is it?” she asked, for her curiosity was stirred; she thought that she might have dropped something during her interview with Rupert. “Where is it? What have I lost?”
“That’s just what I want to ask you,” he answered, with a scarcely suppressed sneer. “Is it perhaps what you are pleased to call your heart?”
“I beg your pardon?” said Edith interrogatively.