“Oh, I suppose he only told Mrs. Welford, and she only told me. You must consider it confidential.”
“Certainly,” replied Louis; “but here is the terminus, and we must abandon our equipage.”
He walked with her as far as the Temples’ place, which was a very short distance off, and then he bowed and left her with unbroken serenity.
Mrs. Vere was a woman who, in point of fact, was by no means incapable of deep duplicity, but in the present instance she had been guilty only of stating as facts what Mrs. Welford had told her more in the form of conjectures. She had happened to meet Somers at this friend’s house one evening, and had introduced the topic of Miss Trevennon, adroitly plying the young man with questions, and had satisfied herself that he was certainly in love with and probably engaged to her. On this basis she and Mrs. Welford had constructed the story which she told with such confidence to Gaston.
As for Louis, he made but little headway with his estimates and prospecting that morning. His first impulse had been to disbelieve this story, and the remembrance of Margaret’s looks and tones as he had talked with her last night made it seem almost incredible. But then, as he looked back into the past, he recalled the incident of the pressed flower, and the emotion Margaret had shown on hearing Mr. Somers sing that Christmas night, and the long interview that followed next morning, and, more than all, the traces of tears he had afterward detected; and, as he thought of all these things, his heart grew very heavy.
He soon resolved that he would go at once to Margaret, and learn the truth from her own lips.
When he reached the house, he found Thomas engaged in polishing the brasses of the front door, which stood partly open. Being informed by him that Miss Trevennon was in the drawing-room alone, he stepped softly over the carpeted hall and entered the library. From there he could see Margaret, seated on a low ottoman before the fire, her hands clasped around her knees, and her eyes fixed meditatively upon the glowing coals. How his young blood leaped at the sight of her! How lovely and gentle she looked! Was she not the very joy of his heart, and delight of his eyes? Where was another like her?
He stood a moment silently observing her, and then he cautiously drew nearer, treading with great care, and shielding himself behind a large screen that stood at one side of the fire-place. In this way he was able to come very near without having his approach suspected. He meant to get very close and then to speak her name, and see if he could call up again the sweet, almost tender regard with which she had looked at him last night. Somehow, he felt sure that he should see that look again. He had half forgotten Charley Somers and Mrs. Vere. He kept his position in silence a moment. It was a joy just to feel himself near her, and to know that by just putting out his hand he might touch her. His eager gaze was fixed upon her fair, sweet profile, and sought the lovely eyes which were still gazing into the fire. He could see their musing, wistful look, and, as he began to wonder what it meant, those gentle eyes became suffused with tears. He saw them rise and fill and overflow the trembling lids, and fall upon a letter in her lap. At sight of that letter his heart contracted, and a sudden pallor over-spread his face. He had been so uncontrollably drawn to her that, in another moment, the burning words of love must have been spoken, and the eager arms outstretched to clasp her to his heart. But this letter was in a man’s handwriting, and his keen eyes detected the South American stamp on the envelope. His blood seemed to congeal within him, and his face grew hard and cold.
He stepped backward, with an effort to escape, but his wits seemed to have deserted him; he stumbled against a chair, and, at the sound, Margaret looked up. Oh, why were his eyes so blindly turned away from her? Why did he not see that ardent, happy look with which she recognized him? Surely it was all and more than memory pictured it! Surely then he must have known, beyond a doubt, that her whole heart bade him welcome!
But he would not look at her. He turned to make his way out, as he had come, pausing merely to ask, with resolutely averted eyes: