In fact, the manner of each towards the other had wholly changed.
John was calm, respectful, gentle, but made no effort to draw Adèle's attention. After tea he asked Mrs. Dubois to play backgammon with him.
Adèle worked on her embroidery, and Mr. Somers sat beside her, sketching on paper with his pencil, various bits of ruin and scenery in Europe, mixed up with all sorts of grotesque shapes and monsters. Mr. Lansdowne appeared, all the evening, so composed, so natural, and simply brotherly, that when Adèle went to her room for the night, the interview of the afternoon seemed almost like a dream. She thought that the peculiar reception she had given to his avowal, might have quite disenchanted her lover. And the thought disturbed her. After much questioning and surmising, she went to sleep.
The next day and the next, Mr. Lansdowne's manner towards Adèle continued the same. She supposed he might renew the subject of their last conversation, but he did not, although several opportunities presented, when he might have done so. Occasionally, she strove to read his emotions by observing his countenance, but his eyes were averted to other objects. He no longer glanced towards her. "Ah! well", said Adèle to herself, "his affection for me could not be so easily repulsed, were it so very profound. I will care nothing for him". And yet, somehow, her footstep lagged wearily and her eye occasionally gathered mists on its brightness.
It was now the eve of the fifth of October. An unnatural heat prevailed, consequent on the long drought, the horizon was skirted with a smoky haze and the atmosphere was exceedingly oppressive. Mrs. Dubois, who was suffering from a severe headache, sat in the parlor, half buried in the cushions of an easy-chair. Adèle stood beside her, bathing her head with perfumed water, while Mr. Somers, prostrated by the weather, lay, apparently asleep, upon a sofa.
"That will do, Adèle", said Mrs. Dubois, making a slight motion towards her daughter. "That will do, ma chère, my head is cooler now. Go out and watch for your father. He will surely be here to-night".
Adèle stepped softly out, through the window upon the balcony.
A few minutes after, Mr. Lansdowne came to the parlor door, looked in, inquired for Mrs. Dubois's headache, gazed for a moment, at the serene face of the sleeper on the sofa, and then, perceiving Adèle sitting outside, impelled by an irresistible impulse, went out and joined her.
She was leaning her head upon her hand, with her arm supported by a low, rude balustrade, that ran round the edge of the balcony, and was looking earnestly up the road, to catch the first glimpse of her father. Her countenance had a subdued, sad expression. She was indeed very unhappy. The distance and reserve that had grown up so suddenly between herself and Mr. Lansdowne had become painful to her. She would have rejoiced to return once more to their former habits of frank and vivacious conversation. But she waited for him to renew the familiarity of the past.
She turned her head towards him as he approached, and without raising her eyes, said, "Good evening, Mr. Lansdowne". He bowed, sat down, and they remained several minutes in silence.