“Two for ye from England, Evelyn, and one or two for me,” she said, and, as Jessie noticed, flashed a quick glance at her companion. “Nothing else,” she added. “I had thought Vane would maybe send a bit note from one of the Island ports to say how he was getting on.”
Then Jessie rose to greet her hostess. The question was decided; it was too late to replace the letter now. She could not remember what they talked about during the next half-hour, but she took her part until Nairn came in, and contrived to have a word with him before leaving. Mrs. Nairn had gone out to give some instructions about supper and, when Evelyn followed her, Jessie turned to Nairn.
“Mr. Vane would be at Comox now,” she said. “Have you any idea of recalling him? Of course, I know a little about the Clermont affairs.”
Nairn glanced at her with thoughtful eyes. “I’m no acquainted with any reason that would render such a course necessary.”
Evelyn reappeared shortly after this, and on the whole Jessie was glad of it, but she excused herself from staying for the evening meal, and walked home thinking hard. It was needful that Vane should be recalled, and though he had written to Evelyn, she still meant to send him word. He would be grateful to her, and, indignant and wounded as she was, she would not own herself beaten. She would warn the man, and afterwards, perhaps allow Nairn to send him a second message.
On reaching her brother’s house she went straight to her own room and tore open the envelope. The colour receded from her face as she read, and sinking into a chair she sat still with hands clenched. The message was terse, but it was stirringly candid, and even where the man did not fully reveal his feelings in his words she could read between the lines. There was no doubt that he had given his heart unreservedly into her rival’s keeping.
For a while she sat still, and then, stooping swiftly, seized the letter, which she had dropped, and rent it into fragments. Her eyes had grown hard and cruel; love of the only kind she was capable of had suddenly turned to hate. What was more, it was a hate that could be gratified.
A little later, Horsfield came in, and though she was very composed now, she noticed that he looked at her in an unusual manner once or twice during the meal that followed.
“You make me feel you have something on your mind,” she said at length.
“That’s a fact,” Horsfield confessed. The man was attached to and rather proud of his sister.