Again a touch of self-reproach smote Karne’s breast. He glanced into Lady Marjorie’s eyes—such blue eyes, as clear and innocent as a child’s; then feeling that he was expected to say something, expressed the pleasure his visit had given him, and thanked her for her own and Bexley’s kindness.
He did not respond, however, in the way she had hoped he would; and his words struck coldly upon her ears. Why did he always repel her whenever she tried to make their friendship a little closer, she wondered, with a vague feeling of disappointment at her heart.
It was the same at the railway station, where she lingered until the train moved off. She gave him plenty of opportunity for pretty farewell speeches, but he didn’t make them; and as she drove home again with Bobbie, tears of mortification welled up into her eyes. It was quite ridiculous of her to care so much, she told herself, as she choked them down.
Bobbie noticing her emotion, endeavoured to console her.
“Don’t cry, mother dear,” he said sympathetically. “We shall see Mr. Karne again in Durlston next month. If you cry on your birthday, you’ll cry all the year round, you know.”
Lady Marjorie thought she detected amusement in the expression of the footman’s broad back.
“Nonsense!” she exclaimed, with a feeble smile. “Crying, indeed! It’s a speck of dust in my eye.”
And another white lie was added to the list on her conscience.
CHAPTER VIII
THE RING RETURNED
“Well, what do you think of this d——d nonsense about Celia?” was David Salmon’s polite greeting when he met Herbert Karne in the King’s Road, Brighton, the next day.