With a sore heart, he rode away from The Oaks, angry with Violet and with himself, and detesting Will Venners with all his heart.
“So he is going to call there this evening!” Leonard repeated half-angrily to himself, as he turned his horse’s head toward home. “They will pass a quiet evening together, and she will never think of me at all, I suppose. But Violet is my betrothed wife, and I have a right to visit The Oaks. Why should I not call also?”
The idea seemed feasible and proper. He made up his mind at length that he would ride over to The Oaks again that night, at the same time that Captain Venners would call there.
Leonard rode up the long avenue leading to Yorke Towers, feeling a little better after he had made up his mind to this step.
At the entrance to the fine old house he was met by Miss Glyndon.
“Your mother is asking for you, Mr. Yorke,” she said, as soon as he entered the house; and there was a tone of relief in her voice at the sight of him. “She is better, but she seems to be greatly troubled about something. Please go right up.”
Leonard Yorke ascended the great staircase, which wound in a circular form up from the center of the entrance hall, and a few moments later he rapped at the door of his mother’s room.
“Come in!” called a faint voice; and Leonard turned the knob and entered.
The room, a great Gothic chamber, was in semi-darkness; the windows were draped in crimson hangings; the furniture was heavy and antique; the walls were hung with paintings and lined with books. It was a sumptuous apartment; but the woman who lay upon the bed, drawn up near an open window, looked as if nothing in the world could make her happy or contented. Her pale, delicate face was still quite beautiful. She had not yet passed middle age, and the soft, dark hair, drawn back from a broad, low brow, was scarcely touched with silver. Her features were delicate and high-bred, but worn and grave to sadness.
As her eyes—calm gray eyes which, in spite of their calmness, could flash with bitter anger and indignation—fell upon the face of her son, she held out her thin white hand.