Fay’s frankness and simplicity were touching Margaret’s heart; even this one interview proved to her that under the girlish crudities there was something very sweet and true in her nature; the petty vanities and empty frivolous aims of some women were not to be traced in Fay’s conversation. Her little ripple of talk was as fresh and wholesome as a clear brook that shows nothing but shining-pebbles under the bright current; the brook might be shallow, but it reflected the sunshine.
Margaret’s thoughts had been straying rather sorrowfully, when a speech of Fay’s suddenly roused her.
“I do wish we could be friends,” she observed, rather piteously. “I am sure my husband must like you both, for he spoke so nicely about you; it is such a pity when people get to misunderstand each other.”
“My dear Lady Redmond,” returned Raby, kindly, “it is a pity, as you say; and we have no ill feeling to your husband; but, I dare say he is wise if he does not think it possible for us to have much intercourse. Sir Hugh and I do not agree about things,” went on Raby after a slight hesitation; “perhaps he will tell you the reason some day; but you may be sure that on this point your husband knows best,”—for he felt himself in a difficulty.
“Of course Hugh is always right,” returned Fay with much dignity. “When I said it was a pity, it was only because I like you both so much, and that I know I shall want to see you again.”
“You are very good,” replied Raby, but there was embarrassment in his tone; it was evident that Hugh’s wife knew nothing about his previous engagement to Margaret. It was a grievous error, he told himself, for one day it must come to her ears; why, the whole neighborhood was cognizant of the fact. She would hear it some day from strangers, and then the knowledge that her husband had not been true to her—that he had kept this secret from her—would fill her young heart with bitterness; and as these thoughts passed through his mind, Margaret clasped her hands involuntarily: “The first mistake,” she murmured; “the first mistake.”
Just then the sound of carriage wheels was distinctly audible on the gravel sweep before the house, and the next moment Erle entered the room.
“I am sorry to have been so long,” he said, apologetically, and Fay thought he seemed a little flurried, “but Hugh asked me to go round and put off those people; they all seemed dreadfully sorry to hear of your accident, Fay.”
“And Hugh?” with a touch of anxiety in her voice.
“Oh, Hugh seemed rather put out about the whole business. I think he wanted to pitch into me for not taking better care of you. How is the foot, Fay—less painful?”