“Ah!”
“Perhaps, now that we are to have guests, it will be different. Mr Smythje is very amusing.”
“Mr Smythje! Who is he?”
“What! you do not know Mr Smythje? I thought that you and he came over in the same ship? Papa said so; and that you were not to be here until to-morrow. I think you have taken him by surprise in coming to-day. But why did you not ride out with Mr Smythje? He arrived here only one hour before you, and has just dined with us. I have left the table this moment, for papa and him to have their cigars. But, bless me, cousin! Pardon me for not asking—perhaps you have not dined yet?”
“No,” replied Herbert, in a tone that expressed chagrin, “nor am I likely to dine here, to-day.”
The storm of queries with which, in the simplicity of her heart, the young Creole thus assailed him, once more brought back that train of bitter reflections, from which her fair presence and sweet converse had for the moment rescued him. Hence the character of his reply.
“And why, cousin Herbert?” asked she, with a marked air of surprise. “If you have not dined, it is not too late. Why not here?”
“Because,”—and the young man drew himself proudly up—“I prefer going without dinner to dining where I am not welcome. In Mount Welcome, it seems, I am not welcome.”
“Oh, cousin—!”
The words, and the appealing accent, were alike interrupted. The door upon the landing turned upon its hinge, and Loftus Vaughan appeared in the doorway.