“Miss Glyndon,” she began in a low tone, “was not Captain Venners here a little while ago?”
Jessie’s face grew crimson, then went white as marble.
“Yes; he was here,” she returned, quietly; “but he has gone. He left some time ago; in fact, just after the alarm was raised. I advised him to go, for he could be of no assistance here.”
“Well”—Hilda’s dusky eyes were fixed full upon Jessie Glyndon’s honest gray ones—“has it not occurred to you that he and—and Violet have gone away together?”
“Impossible! preposterous! Captain Venners would never think of such a thing—nor Violet, either,” she added, swiftly.
Hilda suppressed a smile.
“Dear me, what touching confidence, especially in Will Venners!” she cried. “Why, Jessie, did you never hear of his escapade with Mrs. Montford, the wife of a certain New Orleans merchant? He actually eloped with her. Why, you must have heard of it; all New Orleans was ringing with the scandal at the time. No? Well, that is strange; but it is true, nevertheless. I tell you, Will Venners is a seasoned flirt—a wild fellow who will never get done sowing his crop of oats.”
“But, Miss Rutledge,” Jessie’s voice rang out in indignant protest, “if you are convinced of Captain Venners’ baseness, at least you ought to spare your cousin. Violet Arleigh would never be guilty of such an act as running away with any man. And why, in the name of Heaven, should she run away? She is virtually her own mistress, and will be legally so in three years’ time, when she will come into a handsome fortune. She need not elope with any man, for she can marry the man of her choice, and no one has a right to object. Besides, she is engaged to Mr. Yorke.”
“It is not true!” cried Hilda, wrathfully. “I do not believe it.”
“Very well,” returned Jessie, quietly, “that is as you please. But at all events, Mr. Yorke loves her—I am convinced of that.”