'Little Charity! Of all persons in the world to have writ me! Can Jack have escaped again?'
Somewhat dazed at the suddenness with which the thought of Garth had leapt from some dim spot of memory direct to the immediate moment, Marion sat down and began to read Charity's letter. The writing was ungainly, in parts half illegible, the words ill spelt. Marion re-read several sentences before she began to grasp their meaning. It was something about Elise. Then she saw Roger's name. A chill of fear, the colder because it was shapeless, seized her, throttling the warm happiness that pulsed in her veins. She turned back to read the sentence again. Roger—what was this about Roger?
As she bent over the letter in the light of her dressing-table sconces, Lady Fairfax passed the door and looked in.
'Marion! Why are you up here?'
'There's a letter here from Charity,' said Marion absently, reading on as she spoke, 'and——'
Lady Fairfax crossed the room, and laid her hand on the girl's arm. 'My darling, you cannot behave thus. Listen: there is the music of the galliard which Londoners are dancing to-night in honour of my country maid. Do you not hear yonder Cornish air? They are waiting on you before they can begin. Who is your partner?'
Lady Fairfax gently took the letter from the girl's cold fingers, and bending down, pressed a kiss on her cheek.
'Captain Beckenham is my partner, Aunt Constance.'
The tone of the voice caught the ear of the older woman. She looked at the face reflected in the looking-glass.
'Come, come! What is this letter?'