She had little idea that Evelyn was saying to herself, “What a sweet face! Erle never told me how lovely she was. Oh, my darling, how could you help it? but you shall not be unhappy any longer!”
“Of course I knew who it was,” went on Fern, gently; “you are the Miss Selby whom Mr. Erle is to marry. It is very kind of you to come and see me.”
Oh, the bitter flush that passed over Evelyn’s face; but she only smiled faintly. “Do you know, it is you who have to do me a kindness. It is such a lovely afternoon, and you are alone. I want you to put on that bonnet again and have a drive with me; the park is delicious, and we could have our talk all the same. No, you must not refuse,” as Fern colored and hesitated at this unexpected request; “do me this little favor—it is the first I have ever asked you.” And Fern yielded.
That drive seemed like a dream to Fern. The setting sun was shining between the bare trees in the park, and giving rosy flushes to the snow. Now and then a golden aisle seemed to open; there was a gleam of blue ice in the distance. Miss Selby talked very quietly, chiefly of Mr. Huntingdon’s death and Mrs. Trafford’s sudden failure of strength. But as the sunset tints faded and the gray light of evening began to veil everything, and the gas-lights twinkled, and the horses’ feet rang out on the frozen road, Evelyn leaned back wearily in her place and relapsed into silence. Either the task she had set herself was harder than she thought, or her courage was failing; but the brave lips were quivering sadly in the dusk.
But as the carriage stopped, she suddenly roused herself. “Ah, are we here?” she said, with a little shiver; “I did not think we should be home so soon.” Then turning to the perplexed Fern, she took her hand gently. “You must have some tea with me, and then the brougham shall take you back;” and, without listening to her frightened remonstrance, she conducted her through a large, brilliantly lighted hall and down a narrow corridor, while one of the servants preceded them and threw open a door of a small room, bright with fire-light and lamp-light, where a pretty tea-table was already set.
Fern did not hear the whispered order that Miss Selby gave to the servant, and both question and reply were equally lost on her. “Do not say I have any one with me,” she said, as the man was about to leave the room; and then she coaxed Fern to take off her bonnet, and poured her out some tea, and told her that she looked pale and tired. “But you must have a long rest; and, as Aunt Adela is out, you need not be afraid that you will have to talk to strangers. This is my private sanctum, and only my special friends come here.”
“I ought to be going home,” replied Fern, uneasily; for the thought had suddenly occurred to her that Erle might come and find her there, and then what would he think. As this doubt crossed her mind, she saw Miss Selby knit her brow with a sudden expression of pain; and the next moment those light ringing footsteps, that Fern often heard in her dreams, sounded in the corridor.
Fern put down her cup and rose; “I must go now,” she said, unsteadily. But as she stretched out her hand for her bonnet, Erle was already in the room, and was looking from one pale face to the other in undisguised amazement.
“Miss Trafford!” he exclaimed, as though he could not believe his eyes; but Evelyn quietly went up to him and laid her hand on his arm.
“Yes, I have brought her. I asked her to drive with me, and she never guessed the reason; I could not have persuaded her to come if she had. Dear Erle, I know your sense of honor, and that you would never free yourself; but now I give you back this”—drawing the diamond ring from her finger; “it is Miss Trafford’s, not mine. I can not keep another woman’s property.”