“All this has nothing to do with Hew Murray,” I said hastily, and I felt my cheek burn as I turned away from Charlie. “Are you to be in Bombay, Edward?—are you to be near Hew?”
“Yes, Bombay is my first destination,” said Edward. “I shall seek him out of course—and I suppose I must go in a month or two, so you may prepare your remembrances, Adam.”
“And will you be long away, Mr Maxwell?” said Lilias, softly.
I bent forward at the sound of her voice. I always did—but this night, for the first time, I felt myself grow hot and angry when I saw Edward’s head also inclined towards the speaker, and his face brighten to answer her.
“Many years, I fear, Miss Johnstone—many sad years—if I ever do see Fendie again.”
I thought the low fall of his voice was affectation. Then I repented me—I was exquisitely uncomfortable; doing them all injustice except herself and Charlie—my pure and beautiful star whom no imperfection could cast a shadow on, and the untrue, detected man whom I had called my friend. To these, in their extremes of honour and humiliation, I could not fail to do perfect justice.
“Come, don’t be sentimental,” said Johnstone. “You’ll come home, Mixy—not the least fear of you—and build a thing with pagodas, and a verandah, and call it by an outlandish name, and end your history like a fairy tale. Hew, poor fellow—I am afraid his chance of seeing Fendie again is worse than yours.”
“How is that?” I exclaimed. “Has anything happened, Walter? Have you heard of anything adverse to the Murrays?”
“The poor old man has ruined himself,” said Walter. “I am afraid he must lose everything—but to be sure that is not a thing to be discussed so publicly.”
I turned round and looked Charlie Graeme in the face. He lifted his coward eyes to me for a moment in quick self-consciousness, but they fell before mine. This then was the pitiful reason—I turned indignantly away. I could scarcely bear to look at him again.