In order to explain the cause of Mrs. Verne's altered manner we would have to repeat a conversation which a few hours earlier took place in Mrs. Montague Arnold's boudoir with mother and daughter as occupants. Suffice it to say that a reconciliation was effected, and that Mrs. Verne agreed to everything advanced by her daughter, also that they were now united in a common cause, and that Sir Arthur Fonister was ruthlessly cast aside for a more profitable consideration, and one which would gratify the wants and wishes of both.
"But enough of this for the present, my dear," said Mrs. Verne, then instantly changing look, tone and manner, exclaimed, "It is strange that we have not heard from home. Madge, I trust, things are not growing worse. Indeed, I feel uneasy, but we must be prepared; nothing seems improbable nowadays."
It was Marguerite's turn now to speak. Looking steadily into her mother's face she asked, "Mamma, did Eve tell you what had passed between her and Mr. Tracy?"
"Yes, dearest, and I begged that she would think no more of the matter. When she declared that she would make double such sacrifice for her dear papa, I told her that I believed she would, but that she was of a different disposition from you, and would suit herself to circumstances, and besides she is of a strong mind and possessed of much will, and is capable of smoothing all difficulties, while you, my dear Madge, are a tender, sensitive creature, whom it would be more than cruel to submit to anything contrary to your wishes."
"Mamma, I am capable of more than you think. I have never looked upon Hubert Tracy otherwise than a friend. Indeed I have friends whom I like very much better, but I will receive him as my future husband, and try to do the best I can to repay him for unreciprocated love."
With these words died all the hopes that Marguerite hitherto vainly cherished, and as she received her mother's warm embrace, her heart seemed to have suddenly turned to ice, and her breath more chilling than the piercing blasts of the frigid zone.
CHAPTER XXXII.
MONTAGUE ARNOLD IN DIFFICULTY.
Scene, a London club-room. It is an early hour and the dons of the gay metropolis have not yet put in an appearance. The handsomely-furnished rooms are almost silent while the endless array of porters and waiters are on the alert, and cooks are busy in getting up the various epicurean compounds for which they are noted and to which the gay votaries of these resorts are ever ready to pay devoted attention.
"What! here already, chum? You've kept your word for once." Montague Arnold was somewhat inebriated but still in full possession of his senses.