That sent the colour flying from Mary’s lips, and lighted panic in her eyes. She crushed it into a ball and dropped it; then she went directly to Mrs. James and asked leave to go home for a few days. She shook as she spoke. She said she was feeling very tired and unlike herself; she wanted her mother, she said simply, and as her lip quivered at the pathetic sound of that, her eyes also filled. Mrs. James, not an unkind woman by any means, was really sympathetic. “My dear child, I quite understand. Go home, of course, and get strong and well. Although you may hardly believe me, I care very much for your happiness—and John would wish it. If he could have been here I know he would have taken you. You shall have the carriage. Now, when would you like to——?”
“At once, please, Mrs. Germain—at once.” Mrs. Germain rang the bell and ordered the carriage. Mary could hardly wait for it; she spent the lagging moments pacing her room, and before it was fairly at the door she was on the doorstep. She took no luggage. Crouched in one corner of the hatefully dawdling thing, she stared quivering out of the window. At the corner of the square by Lansdowne House she gasped and cowered. A cab passed her, in which sat, scowling and great, Tristram Duplessis, his arms folded over the apron. Did he—? No, no, thank God, he had not seen her. She was safe in the ladies’ waiting-room; but the traverse of the platform was full of peril. Not until the train moved did she feel herself safe. She hungered for Jinny’s arms as never in her life before. The brave, the capable, the dauntless Jinny—Mercy of Heaven, to have given her such a sister in whom to confide!
But Mrs. James—the sweeping eye having lighted upon the ball of paper—Mrs. James wrote to her brother-in-law that night:—
“My dear John,—In case you may be hurrying back to town, I think I should tell you that Mary has gone to her people for a few days; she will write me the day and hour of her return. There is nothing serious; but she complained of being overtired—not to be wondered at. Even young ladies may find the pleasures of shopping a tax. It is possible, I think, that family matters, of which I know nothing—as I am not in her confidence—may have called her home. She left this telegram here. ‘Blackheath’ is on the stamp, you will notice. Mary spoke of her mother to me when she said that she must go, and seemed unhappy. I put this down to her being overwrought—and no doubt you will hear from her by the post which brings you this. Most of my work is done here, I am happy to say. I hope you will be pleased with Mary’s things. I must say that she looks charming in her wedding gown. But Ninon may be trusted for style. James is getting restive without me. Soames is no doubt at his tricks again. I shall be glad to be at my post. Your affecte. sister,
“Constantia Germain.”
“P.S.—Tristram is back from San Sebastian. I had a visit from him this afternoon, some three minutes after Mary left. He asked after her. You know that they were old acquaintances. Lord Bramleigh remains in Spain. He seems in no hurry to greet his bride. She is staying with the Gospertons at Brenchmore. They expect him there from day to day.”
Next day Mr. Germain presented himself in Hill-street, nothing varied in his deliberate urbanity. He had not heard from Mary, he said, in reply to a question; there had been no time for a letter to reach Southover, and the absence of a telegram was reassuring. He intended to go to Blackheath in the course of the afternoon. No doubt she had overtired herself. He applied himself to other topics and said nothing of Duplessis nor of the Blackheath message until luncheon was over. Then, as Mrs. James went by him through the door which he held open for her, he said, “I had forgotten: you have Tristram back? If he should happen to call, pray tell him that I should be glad to see him if he could spare me a moment.”
Mrs. James stopped in her rustling career. “But I don’t think it at all likely he will call—again,” she said.
“No? Very well. Perhaps I shall encounter him somewhere. Or I could write.”
“Quite so,” said Mrs. James. “It is easy to write.” Then she shimmered away up the stairs. He went into the library, and, after some pacing of the floor, sat down at his desk, wrote, signed, and sealed a paper. He rang the bell.