"Good gracious!" The effect was electrical. Leo bounded from her seat and almost tore the sheet from her sister's hands. "Let me see—let me see," then reading aloud: "Major Foster—Mr. Foster's younger brother—home from India—left the army—father pleased (that's a good thing!)—and coming here next week!—Oh, Sue!—--Stop, there's more," cried Leo, recovering, for the "Oh, Sue!" had been emitted with dolorous mental reference to the Cowes scheme, now obviously knocked on the head. "What's this over the page?" and she turned it in Sue's fingers; "only the man's name—Paul. She doesn't say very much, does she? I thought people usually put in something about——"
"What?" said Sue, smiling.
"About being happy, and that. Or at least about the man himself—not merely who he is, and who his people are."
"She will tell us all when we meet. Maud is not much of a writer, and she is the last person to—to speak of her feelings; but I do not doubt she is happy," quoth Sue, radiantly. "Dear Maud! To think that she on her quiet visit—and at the Fosters, the last people one would have expected—and father pleased——"
"Oh, it's fine," cried Leo, kissing her, "it really is fine. If she had only waited till after the Cowes week it would have been perfect. Anyhow, we'll hie back, you and I, with something to look forward to. We shan't leave all the sweets behind, now that Maud has done the civil by us with her 'Paul'. I did hate the thought of going home before," she was running on, when something stopped her, something that sent a little cold shiver down her back. It was—yes, it was—the look. The look on Sue's face.
For quite a long while now she had lost sight of the goal once set before her eyes by this. Imagination had ceased to be fired by its memory. The three impulsive dashes made in its direction had been so utterly futile that she could only recall the first with mirth, the second with contempt, the last with shame. Val Purcell was now happily restored to his former position of friend and playmate; George Butts?—she had come across Mr. Butts in London and found him in hot pursuit of another lady; and though the thought of poor Tommy Andrews with his weak, imploring mouth and burning eyes could still evoke a twinge, it was but a passing twinge.
Tommy had certainly been found out, and Tommy's master was not a person to find out in vain. Dr. Craig had effected what no one else dared attempt, namely, her own escape from thraldom—and she did not see her co-delinquent let off, albeit after another fashion.
No, she had nothing more to fear from that quarter; and in the rush and novelty of the past few weeks, bygone follies, big and little, active and passive, dwindled to the vanishing point. If only Sue, dear, good, unconscious Sue, would not recall them!