CHAPTER IX.
DOUBTS DISPELLED.
'In Paris to-night?' said a voice that thrilled him, and he found himself face to face with Clare, who unexpectedly, and somewhat to her own confusion, appeared at the drawing-room door.
'I knew not that you were at home,' replied Chute, with some coldness of manner, as the memories of last night occurred to him, and he too became confused as he added, 'I meant to have left a farewell card for Sir Carnaby.'
Mechanically they entered the drawing-room. For reasons of her own, Ida did not follow them, and feeling full of the awkwardness of the situation, Trevor Chute lingered, hat in hand, and Clare, amid the tremor and tumult of her thoughts, forgot to offer him a seat.
She was provoked now that she had yielded to Ida's urgency, and written personally to Chute.
Yet wherefore, or why? She had loved him in the past time, and loved him still, as she whispered in her heart; and felt sure that he loved her; and yet—and yet she thought now that letter should have been written by Ida, not her, if written at all.
'I hope you enjoyed your evening with papa at the club,' she said; with polite frigidity of manner.
'Far from it,' said he abruptly, as he felt piqued thereby.
'Indeed!'
'I can scarcely tell you why.'