"Child, you look tired and pale. All this excitement has been too much for you. What is this business with Vane, eh? To scold him for running away?"
"Nothing of the sort," with impatient wrath; "a mere matter of business, as I said to you just now."
He does not believe her, and in his proud old heart there is a secret indignation at Vane for his cavalier flitting. Reine shall not run after him.
"You mustn't go," he says, bluntly. "I won't have you run after him. He'll come to of himself, only give him time and let him have his fling undisturbed. You will only disgust him, going after him. You shall hold your own, and be as stiff as he is."
She stares at him, her white hands locked before her, her sweet lips apart.
"But, uncle——" she begins.
"I know," he interrupts, "but believe me, child, I know men better than you do. You must not seem to care. Remember that you are a bride, unwooed, as yet, married for spite, not for love. In fact, Vane has gone away for a time just to accustom himself to the idea of his strange marriage, and to give you time to—to train yourself for your new position."
"To make myself over into a woman like Maud," she breathes, low and bitterly.
He starts, evidently disconcerted.
"Eh? what? Who told you that, Reine?"