She was very quiet that evening, very subdued all next day, and so much engrossed in helping her aunt that she was hardly seen by the rest of the guests until evening came round. That she had been missed was evident, but while the other men loudly regretted her absence, and plied her with tiresome questions as to its cause, Ralph was silent, watching her face with an anxious glance, and attending to her comfort with even more than his usual quietly unobtrusive care. Hope felt that he had divined a secret trouble, and she was sure of it the next morning after breakfast, when, Mrs Loftus having sent her into the library to write some notes, he suddenly remembered his own correspondence and followed her into the room. Hope would have settled down to work at once, but she could not be so ungracious as to refuse to help in his search for some mislaid articles, and in the middle of commonplaces another question was put, suddenly, briefly, but with an earnestness of manner which showed what was his real purpose in following her to the library.
“You are not yourself; something is troubling you. Have you had bad news?”
Hope fell back a pace and looked at him with startled eyes. Before his earnest scrutiny ordinary denials became impossible; she could answer nothing but the truth.
“Not bad news—no; but something troubles me a little. Please take no notice; it will pass away.”
“Is it nothing in which I can help?”
A faint smile flitted across Hope’s charming face, and she shook her golden head. “You are very kind, but—”
“If I can help at any time, in any way, will you give me the opportunity? Will you believe that nothing could possibly give me so much pleasure?”
He stepped towards her as he spoke; but even as he did so there came from without the sound of Truda’s voice, loud and insistent, approaching nearer and nearer to the room. With a shiver of dismay, Hope realised that in another moment the door might be thrown open and a tête-à-tête discovered, which, however innocent in reality, would certainly have a romantic appearance in the eyes of a beholder. She broke into a forced laugh and turned aside to seat herself at the desk.
“Oh, thank you! You have helped me already by your charming suggestion about the children’s entertainment. I have written to my sister, and hope to find the story ready when I get home.”
Even to her own ears the reply sounded curt and ungracious, an obvious turning aside from the point at issue, and Ralph showed that he felt the same by saying no more, and leaving the room as soon as he had written a short note. It was painful to be obliged to appear ungracious, but painful things have to be done occasionally, and Hope longed for the day to arrive that would put an end to her suffering. Avice pleaded hard for an extension of her stay, and could only be pacified by the promise of a longer visit in spring, when the lodge rooms were to be furnished and the new scheme inaugurated by which she was to play the part of fairy godmother to less fortunate girls than herself. That was one good thing that seemed likely to arise from this visit, and it was some compensation to Hope to receive her cousin’s affectionate embrace at parting, and to hear her say, “Goodbye, sweet Hope. Don’t forget me among all your duties. We shall be in town again in a fortnight, and I sha’n’t be content unless you come at least once a week to see me. You have done me lots of good. I’ll try—I really will try—to think more of other people.”