Captain Trevelyan had received a home thrust, yet he betrayed no feeling and showed no reason for suspicion, at least in the eyes of his sister and her companion. A quiet laugh greeted the remark. Guy Trevelyan had not the keen glances of the secretary levelled at him now, else the puzzling expression that rested awhile upon his face would instantly have been detected.
"That is the great wonder," said the brother, drawing his sister nearer to his side, adding: "Well, my little sister, until you have become weary of your brother's keeping he is anxious to claim the gracious liberty of possessing the love of one devoted heart. What says la belle Fanny?"
"Oh, Guy," cried Maude, "she was afraid that you may possibly have charitable intentions towards some fair one and wishes to make the test."
"Why, Maude," exclaimed Fanny, "you are really in earnest; I shall begin to think, from the stand you have taken in the matter, that Guy had better beware, else ere long he will not be able to make such avowals to his sister."
"Come, come, little mischief-maker, no jealousy," cried Captain Trevelyan, hastily drawing an arm of each within his own, and then they joined her ladyship in the shrubbery.
Fanny Trevelyan was truly in jest. She had found that no real attachment was to be formed between her brother and friend. There had arisen instead a tender familiarity, a friendship that is rare to be seen. Maude Bereford had grown to treat Guy Trevelyan with brotherly kindness. It pleased him to witness this feeling arising from disinterested friendship and motives of genuine purity. Were it otherwise he would feel an embarrassment that might affect his honest nature. When left to himself he could not dismiss from his thoughts the remark made by his sister. He knew she was ignorant of his affairs in New Brunswick, yet he felt sorely puzzled.
Not long after the following conversation took place, Maude Bereford was preparing to hasten homeward. Lady Rosamond sent cheerful accounts of her husband's rapid improvement. They were still visiting amid the ruins in hopes of speedily returning to England.
Every fortnight brought to Trevelyan Hall a lengthy epistle from Mary Douglas—lengthy from the fact of its being addressed to each member of the family—bearing remembrance to Lady Trevelyan, many choice bits of gossip to Guy, and charming effusions to Fanny, full of love and tenderness. Her last contained a glowing allusion to Lady Rosamond—an eager desire to meet her loving friend; also fervent gratitude for the hopeful restoration of Gerald's health.
"I am almost inclined to feel a pang of jealousy," exclaimed Fanny, as she read and re-read the contents of the precious missive. "Mary loves Lady Rosamond better than any other friends on earth."
"Why not, my child?" questioned Lady Trevelyan; "they are old friends—friends in childhood, girlhood, and womanhood. Lady Rosamond is worthy of the truest and purest love. She is beautiful, good, and lovable. Who could see her ladyship but to admire and love?"