It was apparently a decided rebuke, yet he went downstairs well pleased by the very violence of her reception of this experimental advance. Easily enough had he conquered any temptation to kiss the girl as long as there remained the fear that she might accept his kisses dutifully, as mere fatherly salutes. But the light that had darted into her eloquent eyes at the simple pressure of his fingers upon those fresh, unsullied lips of hers, satisfied him that such an idea—had it ever existed—had been got rid of forever.
Evarne flung herself amid the purple cushions of a big chair and shut her eyes. Ere long one idea evolved itself from the tangle of confused thought, and placed itself—clearly and shamelessly—before the bar of her reason, to be relentlessly judged. Did she indeed owe all that Mr. Kenyon was doing for her—was giving her—simply to the fact that she was Leo Stornway's daughter, or were her own youth—her beauty—her sex—the real forces that prompted his generous actions?
Scarcely one second for calm deliberation was granted her. The very process of actually formulating such a question, brought into conscious existence a knowledge that was both crushing and exalting—terrifying and delightful. Doubtless it had been forming itself in her heart and brain for many a long day, but its appearance as a fully-fledged fact—something that had to be acknowledged and reckoned with—came with the dazzling sharpness of lightning athwart a summer sky.
Whatever might be the nature of her guardian's feelings, this one fact she knew all too well. Come what might she loved him—loved him devotedly—passionately—with all the ardour of youth and a nature formed for loving. She realised that if in his eyes she was not the fairest amid women, she might as well be possessed of no beauty; if he did not seek and enjoy her society before that of any other creature alive, she was worthless in her own sight; if all this divine emotion that had come to her could touch no answering chord within his breast, life would be as a weed, worthless, without colour, perfume or sweetness.
To realise so much during a single tick of the clock was overwhelming! Instinctively concealing her face in the cushions Evarne found her breathing oppressed, while as to her heart—it stood quite still for one brief moment, apparently daunted by the magnitude of the additional task suddenly imposed upon it. Then loyally rising to the occasion, it continued to beat, but with altogether unusual violence and rapidity, as wishing defiantly to show that it could bear up with a good grace even under this double duty.
Ere long Evarne sat erect again, while then and there her soul soared aloft into vaporous and shining realms of happiness. Yet no white angel would have veiled its face before this sweet maiden's thoughts and ideals in her first love. Not for some time did she so much as remember that Morris was married, and even then she was in no mood to actively regret Mrs. Kenyon's existence.
That lady's rights were so unquestioned; Evarne would have shrunk with horror at the mere notion that she should ever come to resent the wife as either a rival or a hindrance.
The fact that she believed Morris was a kind, affectionate and faithful husband, was quite consistent with his returning her love—at all events, love as she conceived it and desired it in return. Notwithstanding her classical reading, the girl failed to realise that her passion—youthful, virginal and absolutely spiritual, yet ardent and enthralling—was an emotion absolutely unknown to any male mind.
Long she sat, enchanted by the fair landscapes of this unexplored country across whose borders her feet had newly strayed. When at length she nestled down into her soft, scented bed, still the same soft visions gladdened her mind.
Next morning, after finishing her coffee and roll, she lay back lazily and reflected with the clearer, more rational, thoughts of the early hours of the day, upon the one topic that now appeared of paramount importance.