So the note was enclosed and despatched, and another came from Leslie Fotheringhame, thanking Mary for returning the former, adding that 'it was scarcely worth while doing so;' and when next they all met, the subject was ignored; but there was a cloud over Annabelle's face, for the memory of the note, in connection with other matters, haunted and tormented her. But he, in manner, was calm, affectionate, and unchanged—the same as usual.
'It cannot be from Blanche Gordon,' she thought, though she certainly was at the ball. This woman—F.F.—can it be possible that she is some former flame of Leslie's, with whom he has renewed his intimacy?'
Her jealous fancies ran riot, and not unnaturally.
Next day, Mary, when attended by a groom, riding in a sequestered lane, between trees and hedgerows, came suddenly upon Fotheringhame and the unknown, walking slowly together hand in hand, in a calm, apparently accustomed, and affectionate manner, that filled her with so much grief and astonishment, that, wheeling her horse in another direction, and escaping them, as she hoped, unseen, she dashed home at a gallop, and at once sought her friend.
Without removing her habit or hat, she threw her arms round the neck of Annabelle, who, though used to her impulsiveness, was certainly startled.
'Dearie—my dearie,' she exclaimed, 'can you bear evil tidings?'
'That may depend upon what they are,' replied Annabelle, growing very pale in anticipation.
'Well,' said Mary, in a broken voice, while drawing her friend close in an embrace, 'you must teach yourself to—to forget Leslie Fotheringhame.'
'Not a difficult task, perhaps, as matters have been going,' was the bitter response; 'but why?'
'I have had ocular proof that he is trifling with you and your love, and that he has, I fear, a wife already—this "F.F." no doubt.'