"Because I must watch his proceedings and intentions—in fact, know all about him—in order to discover whether it will suit my interests best to forward Eversleigh's plans with respect to Lady Verner, or to betray them to Dale."
Miss Brewer looked at him with something like admiration. She thought she understood him so perfectly now, that she need ask nothing farther. So they parted with the understanding that she was to report fully on Douglas Dale's visit, and Carrington was to call on Paulina on the day succeeding it. When she was alone, Miss Brewer remembered that Carrington had not explained why it was he felt certain Dale would not form any intimacy with him as Victor Carrington. As he walked homewards, Victor muttered to himself—
"Heavens, what a clever fool that woman is. Once more I have won, and by boldness."
* * * * *
The feelings with which Douglas Dale prepared for his visit to Hilton House on the day following that on which Victor Carrington had made his full and candid explanation to Miss Brewer, were such as any woman—the purest, the noblest, the best—might have been proud of inspiring. They were full of love, trust, pity, and hope. Douglas Dale had by no means ceased to feel his brother's loss. No, the death of Lionel, and, even more, the terrible manner of that death, still pursued him in every waking hour—still haunted him in his dreams; but sorrow, and especially its isolating tendency, does but quicken and intensify feelings of tenderness in true and noble hearts.
He drove up to Hilton House with glad expectancy, and his eyes were dim as he was ushered into the drawing-room in which Paulina sat.
Madame Durski's emotions on this occasion were unspeakably painful. So well had Miss Brewer played her part, that she had persuaded Paulina her only chance of escape from immediate arrest lay in borrowing money, that very day, from Douglas Dale. Paulina's pride revolted; but the need was pressing, and the unhappy woman yielded.
As she rose to return her visitor's greeting, and stood before him in the cold January sunset, she was indeed, in all outward seeming, worthy of any man's admiration.
Remorse and suffering had paled her cheeks; but they had left no disfiguring traces on her perfect face.
The ivory whiteness of her complexion was, perhaps, her greatest charm, and her beauty would scarcely have been enhanced by those rosy tints so necessary to some faces.