"I called your idea cruel and it is cruel," said Paul hotly, "you do not think of what you advise me to do. Heaven knows there is nothing in me to win a good girl's love, but you advise me to try and do so, and yet, while in act I am saying I love you and begging her to love me in return, I may feel free and be free because in word I have said nothing. I call it shameful, mother!" He rose and walked hurriedly up and down the room, then, softening at the sight of her distress, he bent down and kissed her. "Forgive me if I seem harsh and unkind, but I am very unhappy, most miserable," and, sitting down again, he laid his face upon his arms.
Poor Lady Lyons, living in her monotonous round of small duties, never excited or allowing any interest not touching her son to disturb her, was singularly perplexed. Something seemed, all at once, different. She and her son had frequently had differences of opinion, but he had, at those times, offended, and she had complained, and she had always been so glad to forgive him. Now suddenly he blamed her! She could not at once put herself into the new position. Her feeble mind, bounded entirely by her affection for her son, saw nothing outside this horizon.
The reconciliation, when it came, was not so entirely satisfactory to her feelings, for Paul did not say he was sorry: on the contrary, he argued with her and left her to feel the burden of a defeat. She went to her room, and, as she sipped the thin gruel which solaced her evening hours, two or three tears trickled down her face, and she was conscious of a new and a very painful experience having suddenly confronted her.
At the same hour Margaret and Grace were standing watching the moonlit sea—a scene which never palled upon Margaret, and which from idleness Grace shared.
Paul Lyons's love and his appeal to Margaret was not spoken of even to her sister. Poor boy! his affection must be sacred from careless eyes.
As they watched the sea—suddenly into the most vivid light came gliding a stately yacht.
Her white sails were stretched to catch every whisper of the light wind, and she looked like some great lovely sea-bird, fluttering to her nest.
The sisters had grown familiar with the various ships and yachts that made shorter or longer journeys and returned to their moorings here, but this was something new.
They watched it take up its place with a certain curiosity, watched the lights move, heard the short sharp words of command ring across the water, all unconscious of the new interest that, in all ignorance, she was bringing into their lives.