Locked up in her own room she read the letter over and over again. After all, it was, perhaps, quite as well that this Mr. Warburton had discovered something as to the real facts of the case. Her cousin Matthew was so thin-skinned that, although he had agreed to the temporary concealment of certain facts, he evidently shrank from inflicting on Eleanor Lloyd the blow which ought to follow such concealment as a logical sequence. But should this Mr. Warburton come forward, the blow struck would be just the same, but her cousin would be spared its infliction. Eleanor Lloyd would still be deprived of name, wealth, and position, while a final sting should reach her from the hands of Olive herself, in the care she would take that, if not in one way then in another, Miss Lloyd should be duly enlightened as to the character and antecedents of the man to whom she had given her heart and promised her hand. Still it might be as well to temporise a little, to delay the climax for a week or two, if it were only that the bond of love which bound Miss Lloyd to Pomeroy might grow stronger with the lapse of time; for the more she learnt to love Pomeroy, the deeper would be the wound that a knowledge of his treachery could not fail to inflict.
When Olive had once adopted this line of argument, it was easy for her to persuade herself that the wisest thing she could do would be to keep her own counsel for a little while as to Mr. Warburton's letter. In her cousin's present state of health such a communication would only serve to worry him, and could answer no practical end. Meanwhile, she would take upon herself to have the letter replied to, but in such a way that it would be impossible for her cousin to be offended with her when the time should come for him to be told all that she had done. Not being a person who was in the habit of acting on rash impulses, she kept the letter over-night, with the view of ascertaining whether the resolve which she had come to to-day would bear next morning's cold confirmation. Next morning changed nothing; and as soon as breakfast was over she went downstairs to her cousin's private office, and sent for Mr. Bowood, one of the clerks, and dictated to him that letter which we have already seen in the hands of Gerald. All that Olive wanted just now was a little delay, and this she succeeded in securing.
But what was Gerald to do next? After what that meddlesome imp of a Pod Piper had told Eleanor, it was quite evident to him that all prospect of her listening favourably to his suit was at an end, unless he could offer a frank and full explanation of the facts. He had relied upon his letter to Kelvin bringing matters to a crisis without any further impulse on his part, but that hope was now at an end, unless he could afford to wait for Kelvin's recovery at some indefinite future time. But he could not afford to wait. He had shut himself up in his own rooms, on the plea of indisposition, while awaiting the lawyer's answer, in order that he might run no risk of meeting Miss Lloyd till he knew what that answer was. But this could not go on any longer. A meeting with Eleanor was inevitable, but on what terms could they meet, unless he were prepared with some sort of an explanation beforehand?
His most straightforward course would certainly have been to explain frankly to Eleanor who and what he was, and to tell her all his reasons for seeking to win her affections under a fictitious name. But he still shrank, with a repugnance which he seemed quite unable to overcome, from being the first to tell her that strange story which she must one day be told, but which, it seemed to him, his lips ought to be the last in the world to reveal. That story would deprive her of name, wealth, position--of everything, in fact, that her life had taught her to hold most dear. Not even to set himself right in her eyes, not even to free himself in her thoughts from a vile imputation, could he consent that from his hands the blow should come. That the blow must fall some day he knew quite well, but Kelvin was the man from whom it ought to emanate; and now, after what had happened, no matter how soon it came.
To this conclusion had he come before writing to Kelvin, but the lawyer's answer left him exactly where he was before. Something he must do himself, or else shun Eleanor altogether: but what must that something be?
Was there no middle course open to him? he asked himself; was no scheme of compromise possible by means of which, while setting himself right with Eleanor, he might be spared the necessity of becoming the mouthpiece of a revelation which, if told by him, might perchance shatter his dearest hopes for ever?
After a restless and miserable night, which seemed as if it would never come to an end, he fell into an hour's sound sleep, and when he woke he seemed to see a glimpse of daylight through the midst of his perplexities. Again he took pen in hand, and here is what he wrote on that occasion:--
"Mr. Pomeroy presents his compliments to Miss Lloyd, and having something of a special nature which he is desirous of communicating to her, he would esteem it a great favour if Miss Lloyd would allow him the privilege of a few minutes' private conversation at any time and at any place that may be most convenient to her."
An hour later, he received the following line in answer:--
"Miss Lloyd will be in the library at three o'clock this afternoon."