Richard Whitmore heard this, and began to meditate on the possibility of taking Miss Pease and his sisters to spend the winter in the Riviera, but he decided to let January come first, and then to journey South for the three following months.
Once more came a message from the angle window which put an end to his plans and froze to the death the glad hopes that he had been nourishing in his heart.
Gertrude was sitting there with Miss Pease, reading a letter aloud, when he entered the morning-room. She was not very fond of pet names, and often called her sisters by theirs at fall length instead of using the diminutives, Mina and Jo, and roused Molly's wrath by calling her Florence Mary. Since she had been aware that Norah was only short for Eleanor, Gertrude usually spoke of their late guest by her full name also.
As Richard entered the room he heard his sister say, "So Eleanor is actually engaged to Sir Edward Peyton. Is it not rather a sudden affair?"
"Perhaps it may be deemed so in respect to the engagement itself, but they have been long acquainted. While Norah was here she often spoke of his frequent visits and attentions when we were alone, but so long as there was nothing definite it was scarcely likely she would allude to such things before others."
Richard paused a moment to recover himself after the blow. Then he advanced towards Miss Pease, saying, "I was not an intentional eavesdropper, but I heard the news of your niece's engagement, and I suppose I must congratulate you on the event."
"Yes, Eleanor is engaged," said the little lady, all sympathetic smiles and blushes. "Sometimes I think when such events occur, condolences would be more fitting for those they leave behind. When there is but a single parent and few children, or only one, a break brings pain as well as pleasure, even though caused by marriage."
Richard begged Miss Pease to give his congratulatory messages, and then stole away into the library to think over what he had heard, and find comfort as best he might.
There was only one picture that came constantly before him, and that was the angle window without an occupant, and a dying bird on the terrace below.
And Richard whispered to himself, "Just another wounded bird. I could almost wish that I, too, had been injured even unto death. If it were not that I am needed, specially by Molly, I should say it in earnest. As it is, I must run away, lest the rest should see the wound."