She was aghast; her brain reeled and she stumbled into the carriage and sank weakly upon the seat, anxious to be gone, to be alone, and think it all out by herself.
Her face was deathly in its paleness, and Rupert, though he wondered at her strange behavior, so at variance with her usual courtesy, feared that she was displeased with him for his negligence.
“Am I forgiven?” he asked, smilingly, as he leaned in to tuck the robes about them.
His question brought the stricken woman somewhat to herself, and she replied:
“There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Hamilton. Of course, it was an oversight, your not mentioning that Sir William Heath was your guardian. Did Virgie know?”
“Yes, mamma. Rupert introduced me to him to-night as his best friend; but he had told me before, and I thought you knew,” said the young girl, marveling at her mother’s strange emotion.
“Introduced him to you to-night! Was he here?” cried the woman, with a gasp and a sense of suffocation.
“Yes. But, mamma, how strangely you act! Are you ill?” Virgie inquired, noticing, with increasing alarm, her mother’s pale face and uncontrollable agitation.
“No—yes. Let me get home as soon as we can—I believe I am not well,” and she sank weakly back among the cushions, almost panting for breath.
“Shall I come, too? Will you need me?” Rupert asked, anxiously.