'Finished!—child, you have taken nothing: Tappleton will get you a little grouse-pie.'
'Oh, no—thanks,' replied Olive, and, rising from the table, she quitted the room. The eyes of her aunt and Holcroft followed her, as each had thoughts of their own.
The love the latter professed for her was destitute of jealousy, but was not without fear; and his face just then would have been a picture had anyone cared to study it.
There might have been read satisfaction that by Allan's unexpected departure he had the field all to himself; annoyance, for the Dundargue despatch-box often brought him, and on this morning had done so, epistles in blue envelopes, which he cared not to receive; greed, as he thought of the prize that might yet be his; and hot impatience to find it in his grasp; and thus, while affecting to listen to Lord Aberfeldie, who was describing to him and Sir Paget a cover they were to shoot over that day, his mind was revolving how he might succeed in entrapping Olive Raymond into some kind of Scotch marriage (whatever that was) in fun, or jest, and then declare it was a true and solemn ceremony. He thought he had heard of such things being tried and done, but was not quite certain.
However, he took fresh courage now that he would have her all to himself, and thought, with Bulwer, that 'thrones and bread man wins by the aid of others. Fame and woman's heart he can only gain through himself.'
Not that he cared much for fame or woman's heart either; but he could mightily appreciate her fortune.
Whatever was the secret thought of Olive about the sudden and unexpected departure of Allan, she felt some renewal of her pique, but of a different kind, when told by Eveline of the magnificent suite of Maltese ornaments he had brought home.
'For whom?' she asked.
'You, of course.'
'Then he has never offered them for my acceptance.'