"Perhaps it is," he admitted, in a quiet voice. "But it is no light trial to see all the richest offerings heaped upon the shrine of a saint who accepts them with cold complacency. We, whose altars are bare, would have given worlds for a single gem or flower."
The words sent a thrill of sharp pain through my heart. Had he observed that growing coldness of which I had been conscious in Ronald? Did he know that my husband had turned back in spirit to a woman whom he had loved before he had ever seen me?
The jealousy which was silently burning deep down at the bottom of my soul, had consumed all my peace. I could not speak of it to any one, but I was always haunted by a vague notion that Ronald saw Ida Lorimer often, and found a delight in her society that he had ceased to find in mine.
There was a pause, and I sat waiting almost breathlessly for William Greystock's next words, feeling miserably afraid that he would say something to confirm my fears.
"Ronald's handiwork, I see," he remarked, going close to the chimney-piece to inspect the tambourine. "How clever he is in doing this kind of thing! Miss Lorimer is making some progress under his instruction, but she has not much taste."
He spoke in a natural, easy tone, as if he had taken it for granted that I knew all about the intimacy between my husband and Ida Lorimer. I turned faint and sick, and my voice sounded strangely harsh when I spoke.
"I did not know that Ronald was giving lessons," I said, involuntarily.
"Did you not?" William turned, and looked at me with a smile. "Yes, he is not a bad teacher, I believe. But, Mrs. Hepburne, I am forgetting the object of my visit; I came to invite you to a picnic at Richmond. Ronald is coming, of course, and I hope you will be persuaded to join us."
How could he smile so blandly when my poor distressed face was fronting his? Either he was utterly obtuse, or he was taking a positive pleasure in my sufferings.
I did not want to go to Richmond—I did not want to go anywhere—the desire to see green trees and fields was still strong within me, but I longed to be alone in the old haunts of my childhood, in scenes which were unconnected with the love and pain of my later life. Yet how could I refuse an invitation which had been already accepted by my husband?