He was watching Suzette, to see if she were interested in the expected arrival. She played on, her eyes intent alternately upon the page of music in front of her, and upon the stops which she was learning to use. There was no stumbling in the notes, or halting in the time. She played the simple legato passages smoothly and carefully, and seemed to pay no heed to their talk.
Allan would have been less than human, perhaps, if his first thought on hearing of Geoffrey's return had not been of the influence he might exercise upon Suzette—whether in him she would recognize the superior and more attractive personality.
"No," he thought, ashamed of that jealous fear which was so quick to foresee a rival, "Suzette has given me her heart, and it must be my own fault if I can't keep it. Women are our superiors, at least in this, that they are not so easily caught by the modelling of a face, or the rich tones of a complexion. And shall I think so meanly of my sweet Suzette as to suppose that my happiness is in danger because some one more attractive than myself appears upon the scene? When we spend our first season in London as man and wife, she will have to run the gauntlet of all the agreeable men in town, soldiers and sailors, actors and painters, ingenuous young adorers and hoary-headed flatterers. The whole army of Satan that maketh war upon innocence and beauty. No, I am not afraid. She has a fine brain and a noble heart. She is not the kind of woman to jilt a lover or betray a husband. I am safe in loving her."
He had need to comfort himself, for the hour of trial was nearer than he thought.
He went to Discombe before luncheon on the morning after he had heard of Geoffrey's return. He went expecting to find Suzette at the organ, and to hear the latter part of the lesson. He was not a connoisseur, but he loved music well enough to love to hear his sweetheart play, and to be able to distinguish every stage of progress in her performance. To-day, however, the organ was silent; the youth who blew the bellows was chasing a wasp in the corridor, and the room into which Allan was ushered was empty.
"The ladies are in the garden, sir," said the butler. "Shall I tell my mistress that you are here?"
"No, thanks, I'll go and look for the ladies."
The autumn morning was bright and mild, and one of the French windows was open.
Allan hurried out to the garden, and looked down the cypress avenue. The long perspective of smooth-shaven lawn was empty. There was no one loitering by the fountain. They were in the summer-house—the classic temple where Mrs. Wornock had sunk into unconsciousness at the sound of his father's name, where he had lived through the most embarrassing experience of his life.
He could distinguish Mrs. Wornock's black gown, and Suzette's terra-cotta frock, a cloth frock from a Salisbury tailor, which he had greatly admired. But there was another figure that puzzled him—an unfamiliar figure in grey—a man's figure.