Dutton's face darkened. He had taken an antipathy to this man, who commenced a sort of condescending flirtation with his wife. He called her "Gertrude," too, and poured out compliments on her acting, describing his despair at being unable to find her among the dancers afterwards.
Harry was boiling, Kate exultant. "I knew I was right," she thought.
Bluebell was summoned to the piano. Sir Robert followed. It was a semi-grand, and he leant on the other end, opposite to her.
"Where is the music? Oh! you play without. So much the better. One sees the eyes flashing."
It was not the only pair, for Dutton's were fixed upon Sir Robert with a ferocious expression, apparent even to his obtuseness, and somewhat surprised, he returned it with a slight stare and elevation of the eyebrows. That night, in the smoking-room, the antagonism between the two was more pronounced than ever. Sir Robert explained it by a conjecture that "Dutton was sweet on the little governess, and d—d jealous." He was not particularly popular among the other men: but all agreed that Dutton "had been very rough on Lowther, and was not half such a cheery, pleasant fellow as he used to be."
What would not Kate have given for an incident that befell Lady Geraldine one day! She had been much puzzled by Harry's manner since his return: for, though his appreciation of her was more heartily manifested than before, she was conscious of a difference,—or rather, perhaps, analyzed it more truly now. Her adorers had not been so numerous as to disturb the impression of the first man who had ever appeared to care about her; but she could scarcely deceive herself longer—there was evidently now nothing warmer than liking left.
Poor girl! she was easily discouraged, and felt no resentment; she did not even think it necessary to conjure up a rival to account for the discontinuation of his attentions, till a slight incident revealed one to her. She was sitting alone in the morning-room, and, being somewhat of a china fancier, turned a cup on a bracket upside down, to examine the mark at the bottom. In doing so, a bit of paper fluttered out, and as she picked it up, the words, "West Wood, four o'clock," met her startled gaze. She was convinced that the writing was Harry's, but whom could the assignation be intended for? Soon after Bluebell came into the room as it seemed to her with no very apparent purpose Lady Geraldine, not without design, seated herself at a small writing-table, with her back to the bracket, and almost immediately heard a slight clatter. Miss Leigh had vanished, and so had the paper from the teacup.
"I wish I dare go to the West Wood," thought Geraldine, for she was not all perfect, and the indignation in her heart inspired a deep desire to expose the underhand behaviour of the designing governess. That evening Harry had been talking to her longer than usual. Bluebell was singing at the piano, and finally began the Persian song of "The May Rose to the Nightingale." Geraldine listened, attracted by the sentiment. One verse was unfortunately suggestive—
Moonlight, moonlight, think'st thou he'd leave me
For one so pale—for one so pale
But moonlight, moonlight, if he deceive me,
Tell not the tale—tell not the tale
Then Geraldine's pallid complexion was flushed with resentment, for she imagined the words levelled at herself. Next day—unable to resist again examining the cup—she found another fold of paper, but this time in a female handwriting. Harry, of course, would come for it and she determined to remain till he did so. The room was then tolerably full. Some time after Dutton dropped in with another man, and, all unconscious of surveillance, lingered till only he and Lady Geraldine remained in the room.