The girl for a moment sat perfectly silent, her eyes gazing out on the pretty garden, of which nevertheless they saw nothing. Then she said slowly, but distinctly, and without hesitation—
“No, as I know myself I do not care for him now. He has tried me too cruelly, brought me in sight of the very gates of death, and when there, I tore him, him the husband of that girl, out of my heart, for ever! I forgive him, but I do not love him any more. And Geoffrey is so good and kind, and I am so lonely. Dear Miss Veronica, may I not give myself the only pleasure left me, that of making another person happy? I would, I do love him, in a perfectly different way. More as I love Harry. But it might grow to be a love more worthy of his, for I would indeed try to be a good wife to him. And I can’t go back to the Cross House and to my utter loneliness. Oh, do tell me what to do.”
Veronica was sorely troubled.
“I cannot tell you, my dearest. I dare not even advise you,” she said. Suddenly an idea occurred to her, “How would you like the idea of laying it all before the chief person concerned, Geoffrey himself? He is not usually very thoughtful or deliberate, and in the present case it seems too much to expect that he should be so. But he is very honest and conscientious, and I believe, though the question is one of vital interest for himself, he is capable of looking at it from your side too. However it may be, I see no other course before you. Tell him what you feel you can give him, and leave it to him to decide.”
“Yes,” said Marion, thoughtfully, “I think I will do as you say.”
And then they were silent for a time, and when they talked again it was of perfectly different things.
The next morning was Geoffrey came, as was now his daily habit, to spend an hour in two with his friends, he found Marion alone; Miss Temple being later than usual in taking her place for the day on the invalid couch where her life was spent.
Mr. Baldwin looked round nervously; he was pleased and yet half alarmed at finding himself alone with his ward; for the first time almost, since the memorable February afternoon when he had broken his promise to Veronica.
Marion was sitting working, as calmly as possible. She was in no hurry to hasten the inevitable explanation. Now that she had made up her mind what to do, she was perfectly content to leave in Mr. Baldwin’s hands, the when and where of the dénouement. So she stitched away composedly. Geoffrey sat down and looked at her for a few minutes, made, after the manner of people in such circumstances, some particularly stupid remark the weather, and then began to fidget.
At last he plunged in, head foremost.