Naturally as it had come about—for no one else had volunteered to accompany them—the novelty of the circumstance caused them both a little embarrassment; and, by some curious physiological coincidence, each fell to thinking of Dora Cunningham. Garth smoked his cigar meditatively, and cast curious side-long glances at the slender black figure beside him. Visions of a white dress and golden hair still haunted him. Why was he shy and silent all at once? had he anything in common with this grave, brown-eyed girl? He was wondering, if she were Dora would he have found anything to say to her? He was sorry to think that this was Miss Marriott's last night. Sorry! yes; it made him feel all at once as though the old house had grown suddenly dull and empty; and yet if it had been Dora—
"Miss Marriott, how is it that you and Miss Cunningham don't hit it off better?" he said, so abruptly that Queenie started and changed color. She was feeling very heavy-hearted, poor little soul, to think it was her last night at Church-Stile House; and how she would miss the slow, even tramp of Garth's footsteps under her windows, and the red end of his cigar emerging from the trees every ten minutes. She had often sat and watched it with unconscious interest even to herself; she was loath to part with that, and his cheery good morning when she looked out to smell the roses.
She was just wondering how much he would miss her, and whether her absence would leave any perceptible gap in the family circle; and this question jarred upon her with sudden discord.
"What do you mean?" she asked faintly, conscious all at once of a certain chilliness round the region of the heart. She had hoped for a few words of friendly interest and advice on her own affairs to-night. Had he only brought her out there to talk of Dora Cunningham?
"Why don't you two girls get on better together?" pursued Garth, inexorably. He was quite aware of the reluctance of Queenie's tone as she answered him, but the opportunity was a good one, and he thought he would have it out with her. She was indebted to him for much kindness, he told himself; his sisters and he had taken her by the hand, and found her occupation, and a roof to cover her head; he had a right to ask, as a return, that she should show a little consideration for him and his friends; and her manner to Dora somehow galled him. Perhaps he was a little curious on the subject as well; anyway, he would have his answer.
"How do you know that we do not?" she replied, fencing in her turn. "I have not seen Miss Cunningham more than three or four times; we are comparative strangers to each other."
"You know her as well as you know Mrs. Fawcett or Miss Faith Palmer; they are all comparative strangers to you, but to them your manner is always so bright and genial."
"Ah; one cannot help getting on with them."
"I should have said the same of Miss Cunningham. There, you shake your head; how impossible it is to understand you women. Miss Dora seems so willing to be friendly on her side. She has driven over twice to see you, and tender her advice and help; but one cannot help seeing how these overtures have been repelled."
"Mr. Clayton, pray don't speak as though you were hurt with me."