"I am sure of that," he said, gently; "it is necessarily very painful to me. Permit me to ask again, how you chanced to come by these papers?"
"They were lent us by—by a lady here; her father is from Cheshire, and always gets the papers. Indeed I am very, very sorry. I wouldn't have had it happen for worlds."
"There is no need to apologize—you are in no way to blame. I trust I find you and Miss Darrell entirely recovered from the fatigue of last night. The most charming party of the season—that is the unanimous verdict, and I for one indorse it."
He took a seat, the color slowly returning to his face. As he spoke, two eyes met his, dark, sweet, compassionate, but Edith Darrell did not speak a word.
The obnoxious papers were swept out of sight—Miss Stuart made desperate efforts at ease of manner, and morning call chit-chat, but every effort fell flat. The spell of the Chesholm Courier was on them all, and was not to be shaken off. It was a relief when the baronet rose to go.
"Lady Helena desires best regards to you both—she has fallen quite in love with you, Miss Darrell. As it is a 'Nilsson night' at the academy, I suppose we will have the pleasure of seeing you there?"
"You certainly will," answered Trix, "Edith has never heard Nilsson yet, poor child. Remember us to Lady Helena, Sir Victor. Good afternoon."
Then he was gone—and Miss Stuart looked at Miss Darrell, solemnly and long.
"There goes my last hope! Oh, my, why did I fetch down those wretched papers. All my ambitious dreams of being a baro—nette are knocked in the head now. He'll never be able to bear the sight of me again."
"I don't see that," Edith responded; "if a murder is committed, the world is pretty sure to know of it—its something not to be ignored. How deeply he seems to feel it too—in spite of his rank and wealth I pity him, Trixy."