"Yes, Felix has been a changed man from the day of his friend's arrival three weeks ago. And yet, there is something in the change which I fail to understand, and which, for that very reason, dulls the edge of my happiness. To me--but I may be fanciful--there seems something feverish and unreal about his gaiety. His mirth has an air of being assumed for the occasion; in his laughter there is an echo of mockery; it is as though he were laughing at himself for finding anything worth laughing about.
"At times there comes into his eyes a strange, impersonal look, as though he were gazing at something invisible to any one but himself. And why is it that of late he cannot rest at night? Why does he rise and quit the house at daybreak, and not be seen again till breakfast time? There is something below the surface of which I know nothing--something he is hiding from me. He thinks to deceive me by his assumption of gaiety, whereas--Ah!"
A slight noise had caused her to turn her head. There stood her husband, holding aside the portière and gazing smilingly at her. He had gone to the boudoir first in search of her. He now came forward, and having disposed of his hat and gloves on a side table, he bent over his wife and kissed her tenderly.
"My telegram reached you in due course, I see. I was afraid you would be growing uneasy."
"I had indeed grown very uneasy long before it arrived."
"I had gone for a longer ride than usual, when all at once Selim fell lame. I was compelled to dismount and lead him at a snail's pace as far as Greystone Priors, where I had his legs bandaged, and have left him till tomorrow." Then, having drawn up a chair, he asked, but without any apparent eagerness: "Anything fresh? Any news?"
"None whatever."
"Then Rodd has not returned?"--consulting his watch as he put the question.
"I have not seen anything of him. But the trial will scarcely be over as early as this, will it?"
"That is more than I can say."