“You must be very—very sure of yourself!” said Ruth wistfully; at which Margot reared her little head with a haughty gesture.
“Absolutely sure! If he had dared to ask me six months ago, I might have given up everything to be the wife of the imaginary Victor, but now I will not alter the slightest plan out of consideration for the real Mr Druce. I can trust myself; but,”—she turned a grave, direct gaze on the other’s face—“can you trust me, Ruth? I don’t concern myself about appearances, so it is possible you may hear rumours which may not seem in keeping with our agreement. Can you trust me enough to believe that, however strange things may seem, I am really considering your interests even more than my own?”
“I think I can—oh yes, I am sure I can!” replied Ruth hesitatingly.
But even as she spoke a doubt crept up in her mind. If Victor did, indeed, become the owner of the Court, and remained persistent in his wooing, could Margot withstand him? She had loved him once. Would not the old feeling revive, and prove too strong for argument? It was Ruth’s nature to distract herself with doubts and fears, and the little conversation did not help to raise her spirits.
On the fifth morning after Mr Farrell’s seizure he came downstairs to his study, and was reported by the doctor to be in fairly good health. He did not appear at luncheon, however, and there was something darkly mysterious about James’s manner when he came into the dining-room when the meal was nearly over to announce that his master wished to see the young ladies, with Mr Druce and Mr Melland, in the library at five o’clock.
“And me—surely he wishes to see me also!” Mrs Wolff cried, in an injured tone.
But James only bowed, and repeated inflexibly—
“Only the young ladies and gentlemen, ma’am. I understand that he wishes to see them on business.”
Business! That word was enough to keep five minds working busily during the hours between luncheon and the time appointed for the interview. Had Uncle Bernard come to some definite conclusion during those quiet days upstairs? Was the period of probation over, or did the summons simply imply some new and eccentric phase of the old routine?
Conjecture ran riot; but at the first sight of the old man’s face all pleasant expectations died a sudden death, for it was fixed in a stern, unbending anger, such as his guests had never seen before. Hardly replying to their congratulations and inquiries, he motioned them impatiently to the seats ranged in readiness facing his chair, exactly as they had been on that first important interview five weeks before. Only five weeks, thirty-five short days, yet each of the squire’s guests felt as if a lifetime of experience yawned between that day and this!