“I wish I could! I wish I could!”
She spoke passionately, as if the words broke from her against her will, and, rising hastily, she went into the garden, as if afraid to stay.
“Poor, dear Jean is very unhappy about something, but I can’t discover what it is. Last night I found her crying over a rose, and now she runs away, looking as if her heart was broken. I’m glad I’ve got no lessons.”
“What kind of a rose?” asked Coventry from behind his paper as Bella paused.
“A lovely white one. It must have come from the Hall; we have none like it. I wonder if Jean was ever going to be married, and lost her lover, and felt sad because the flower reminded her of bridal roses.”
Coventry made no reply, but felt himself change countenance as he recalled the little scene behind the rose hedge, where he gave Jean the flower which she had refused yet taken. Presently, to Bella’s surprise, he flung down the paper, tore Sydney’s note to atoms, and rang for his horse with an energy which amazed her.
“Why, Gerald, what has come over you? One would think Ned’s restless spirit had suddenly taken possession of you. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to work” was the unexpected answer, as Coventry turned toward her with an expression so rarely seen on his fine face.
“What has waked you up all at once?” asked Bella, looking more and more amazed.
“You did,” he said, drawing her toward him.