"I say, Erskine," said Hugh, just before my leaving the house, "you have no objection to my bringing Mary Treleaven over to see you to-morrow night? I want you to know her."
"I shall be delighted," was my reply. "But do you think you are wise in opposing your father?"
"How can I help opposing him?" asked Hugh. "I am of age, and I have my own life to live. She is the only girl in the world to me, and I am not going to live in misery because of the pater's fads."
As I left I had a few seconds alone with Isabella Lethbridge.
"You have been bored to death, Mr. Erskine," she said. "No, don't try to deny it. You have played your part very well, but your boredom is written on your face. I don't wonder at it."
"Then I apologize for an unforgetable breach of good manners. But did I seem bored when I was talking to you?"
"No, you did not; but please, Mr. Erskine, don't go away with a false impression about me."
"I hope it is not false," I said, "for it is a very pleasant one."
"That is awfully poor," she replied, "and certainly it is not worthy of you." And then she flashed a look into my eyes which, I must confess, set my heart beating violently. "Perhaps the next time you come, Mr. Erskine, we may have pleasanter things to talk about."
I went home feeling that my evening had been ill-spent, and yet I was not sure. I felt somehow that forces were at work in my life which were going to make a change in me. Why, I did not know. It is said that when people are near death, the horizon of their vision becomes widened, that the barriers which have hitherto bounded their sight break down. Was that so with me? I did not know why it was, but I felt as though I were on the brink of some discovery. I had no reason for this. My thoughts were rather intuitional than logical.