"That is new; he used to please you entirely."
Bulchester fidgetted, and glanced at Katie who had turned toward the speaker. There was no need, he thought, of bringing out his past infatuation so plainly. In the light of a new one, it looked absurd enough to him not to want to have it paraded before one of his present companions at least. But Elizabeth had had no idea of parading his absurdities; for when he said apologetically that one learned in time to regulate his enthusiasms, she looked at him with surprise, as if roused, and answered that the ability to be a good friend was the last thing to need apology. Then she sat busy with her own thoughts.
"What, the mischief, is she after?" thought the young man watching her as Katie talked, and there must have been strong reason that could have diverted his mind in any degree from Katie. "Is it possible she has struck my uncanny suspicion? If she has, she's cool about it. No, it's impossible; I've buried it fathoms deep. Nobody could find it. It's too evil a suspicion, too satanical, ever to be brought to light. I wish to Heaven, though, I had never run across it, it makes me horribly uncomfortable." Then he turned to Katie, but soon his thoughts were running upon Elizabeth again. "She's one of those people," he mused, "that you think don't notice anything, and all at once she'll score a hit that the best players would be proud of. I can't make her out. But I hardly think Edmonson would have everything quite his own way. Pity he can't try it. I'd like to see it working. And perhaps some day—." So, he tried to put away from him a suggestion, which, dwelt upon, gave him a sense of personal guilt, because, only supposing this thing came that Edmonson had hinted at, it would be an advantage to himself. He shivered at the suggestion; there was no such purpose in reality, he was sure of it. Edmonson only talked wildly as he had a way of doing. The very thought seemed a crime to Bulchester. If he really believed, he ought to speak. But he did not believe, and he could hardly denounce his friend on a vagary. Still, he was troubled by Elizabeth's evident pondering, and was glad to have the conversation turned into any channel that would sweep out thoughts of Edmonson from their minds.
As this was done and he turned fully to Katie again, a new mood, the effect of her sudden indifference, came over him. A few moments ago she had been almost fond, now she was languidly polite. Hope faded away from all points of his horizon. An easterly mist of doubt was creeping over him. His egotism at its height was only a mild satisfaction in his social impregnability and was readily overpowered by the recollection of personal defects to which he was acutely alive. In the atmosphere of Katie's coolness, he forgot his earldom and thought disconsolately of his nose. He was disconcerted, and after a few embarrassed words took his leave. It never occurred to him as a consolation that his tones and glances were growing a little too loverlike to be safely on exhibition before Elizabeth who had not noticed them in the moments that Bulchester had forgotten his caution, but who, as Katie knew, might wake up to the fact at any glance. Elizabeth bade him farewell kindly, she pitied his disappointment, and thought that he bore it well. But as she watched his half-timorous movements, she believed that even had her own marriage ceremony turned out to be a reality. Lord Bulchester would have had no chance with a girl who had been loved by Stephen Archdale whose wooing was as full of intrepidity as his other acts.
"Well! What are you thinking of?" asked Katie meeting her earnest gaze.
"Do you want me to tell you?"
"Yes."
"I was wondering why you tortured him. Why don't you send him away at once, and forever?"
Katie laughed unaimiably. "He seems to like the torturing," she said. Then she looked at Elizabeth in a teasing way. "Some girls would prefer him to Stephen, you know," she added.