Neither did they meet at the various entertainments—dinner-parties and dances that were given in honor of the bride. That winter Margaret declined all invitations; her brother needed her—and she had never cared much for gayety—this was her only excuse. But Sir Hugh knew why he never met her—her high sense of honor kept them apart—neither of them had lived down their pain; in the future it might be possible for her to be his friend, and the friend of his wife; but now it could hardly be; and yet Margaret was longing, craving intensely to see the lovely young creature of whom every one was speaking, and whom already she loved by report.
Strange to say, no one spoke about the Ferrers to Fay; people were too well acquainted with the story of Sir Hugh’s engagement to Margaret to venture on a hint. Once Fay asked a lady with whom she was driving, who lived in that quaint old house on the Sandycliffe road? and was told briefly that the blind vicar, Mr. Ferrers, lived there with his sister.
Fay would have put some more questions, but Mrs. Sinclair turned the subject rather quickly; but Fay recurred to it that evening.
“Why have not the Ferrers called on us, Hugh?” she asked, suddenly, when she was keeping him company in the library.
Sir Hugh started, and then jumped up to replenish the fire.
“Who told you about them?” he asked, as he tried to break a refractory coal.
“Mrs. Sinclair. I was driving with her this afternoon, and I asked her who lived in that red brick house with the curious gables, on the Sandycliffe road, and she said it was the blind vicar, Mr. Ferrers, and his sister; don’t you like them, Hugh? everyone else has called, and it seems rather strange that they should have taken no notice.”
“Well, you see, it is a little awkward,” returned her husband, still wrestling with the coal, while Fay watched the process with interest; “they used to be friends of mine, but we have had a misunderstanding, and now, of course, there is a coolness.”
“And they are nice people.”
“Very nice people; he is a very clever man, but we do not agree—that is all;” and then Hugh disposed of the coal and took up his paper, and Fay did not like to disturb him with any more questions. It seemed a great pity, she thought, it was such a lovely house; and if Mr. Ferrers were a nice clever man—and then she wondered what his sister was like; and as she sat at Hugh’s feet basking in the fire-light she had no idea that Hugh’s forehead was clouded and puckered with pain. Fay’s innocent questions had raised a storm in his breast. Would she speak of them again? was there any danger that people would gossip to her? One day he might be obliged to tell her himself, but not now, she seemed so happy, so perfectly contented, and she was such a child.