Margaret shook her head. The affront was too gross for comment.
“It was beastly of him,” said Varney. “He might have sent you just a line. However, Dr. Thorndyke will have something to go on now. He will know whereabouts to look for him.”
“As far as I am concerned,” Margaret said coldly, “the affair is finished. This insult was the last straw. I have no further interest in him and I hope I may never see him again. But,” she added earnestly after a brief pause, “I should like to be rid of him completely. I want my freedom.” As she spoke—with unusual emphasis and energy—she looked, for a moment, straight into Varney’s eyes. Then suddenly she flushed scarlet and turned her head away.
Varney was literally overwhelmed. He felt the blood rush to his head and tingle in the tips of his fingers. After one swift glance, he too turned away his head. He did not dare to look at her. Nor, for some seconds did he dare to trust his voice. At last it had come! In the twinkling of an eye, his dim hopes, more than half distrusted, had changed into realities. For there could be no doubt. That look into his eyes, that sudden blush, what could they be but an unpremeditated, unintended confession? She wanted her freedom. That unguarded glance told him why; and then her mantling cheeks while they rebuked the glance, but served to interpret its significance.
With an effort, he regained his normal manner. His natural delicacy told him that he must not be too discerning. He must take no cognizance of this confidence that was never intended. She must still think that her secret was locked up in her own breast secure from every eye—even from his.
And yet what a pitiful game of cross-purposes they were playing! She wanted her freedom! And behold! she was free; and he knew it and could not tell her. What a tangle it was! And how was it ever going to be straightened out? In life, Purcell had stood between him and liberty; and now the ghost—nay! less than the ghost. The mere unsubstantial name of Purcell stood between him and a lifelong happiness that Fortune was actually holding out to him.
It was clear that, sooner or later, the ghost of Purcell would have to be laid. But how? And here it began to dawn upon him that the ingenious letter, on which he had been congratulating himself, had been a tactical mistake. He had not known about Dr. Thorndyke, and he had never heard before of the possibility of presuming a person’s death. He had been busying himself to produce convincing evidence that Purcell was alive, whereas it was possible that Thorndyke had been considering the chances of being able to presume his death. It was rather a pity; for Purcell had got to be disposed of before he could openly declare himself to Maggie; and this method of legal presumption of death appeared to be the very one that suited the conditions. He wished he had known about it before.
These reflections flashed through his mind in the silence that had followed Margaret’s unguarded utterance. For the moment Varney had been too overcome to reply. And Margaret suddenly fell silent with an air of some confusion. Recovering himself, Varney now replied in a tone of conventional sympathy.
“Of course you do. The bargain is off on the one side, and it is not reasonable that it should hold on the other. You don’t want to be shackled forever to a man who has gone out of your life. But I don’t quite see what is to be done.”
“Neither do I,” said Margaret. “Perhaps the lawyers will be able to make some suggestion—and I think I hear one of them arriving.”