“She was in the drawing-room,” into which room, forgetting the preliminary of announcement, he pushed his way. She was not there, but he heard her talking to Winnie Dobbs in the gallery.
“Just passing by; afraid I’m very troublesome, but I could not resist,” pleaded Vane Trevor, as he glanced over Miss Perfect’s gray silk shoulder, and somewhat old-fashioned collar, toward the door, expecting, perhaps, another apparition.
“I’m very glad you’ve come, Mr. Trevor.—Shall we sit down? for I want to ask you to satisfy me upon a point.”
This was a day of agitations for Trevor, and his heart made an odd little dance, and a sudden drop, and though he smiled, he felt his cheek grow a little pale.
“By Jove!” thought Trevor as he placed himself near Aunt Dinah, “she’ll save me a lot of trouble, and open the subject all in a sentence.”
He was leaning against the window case, and the damask curtains, though somewhat the worse of the sun, made a gorgeous drapery about him, as with folded arms, and trying to look perfectly serene, he looked down on Miss Perfect’s face. The lady seemed to have some little difficulty about speaking, and cleared her voice, and looked out of the window for help, and all the time the young man felt very oddly. At last she said—
“I had made up my mind not to allude to the subject, but last night, something occurred which has induced me just to ask a question or two.” Aunt Dinah paused; and with rather pale lips, Vane Trevor smiled an assurance that he would be too happy to answer any question which Miss Perfect might please to ask.
Again a little silence—again the odd sensation in Vane’s heart, and the same sickening sense of suspense, and he felt he could not stand it much longer.
“I said I would not allude again to William Maubray, but I have altered that resolution. I mean, however, to ask but a question or two.”
“Oh?” was all that Trevor uttered, but he felt that he could have wished the old woman and William Maubray in a sack at the bottom of his best pond at Revington.