“Thank you,” he replied, and coming back took a seat at Fan's side.
Mary on her part returned to the sofa and attempted to renew her interrupted conversation with Constance. It was, however, a most uncomfortable quartette, for Captain Horton gave only half his attention to Fan, and seemed anxious not to lose any of Mary's low-spoken words; while Mary on her side listened as much or more to the other two as to Constance. In a few minutes the visitor rose to go, and after shaking hands a second time with Fan, turned towards the other ladies and included them both in a bow, when Constance stood up and held out her hand to him. As he advanced to her Mary also rose to her feet, as if anxious to keep the hem of her dress out of his way, and stood with averted face. From Constance, after he had shaken hands with her, he glanced at the other's face, still averted, which had grown so strangely white and still, and for a moment longer hesitated. Then the face turned to him, and their eyes met, each trying as it were to fathom the other's thought, and Mary's lips quivered, and putting out her hand she spoke with trembling voice—“Captain Horton—Jack—for Fan's sake—I forgive you.”
“God bless you for that, Mary,” he said in a low voice, taking her hand and bending lower and lower until his lips touched her fingers. Next moment he was gone from the room.
Mary dropped back on to the sofa, and covered her eyes with her hand: then Constance, seeing Fan approaching her, left the room.
“Dear Mary, I am so glad,” said the girl, putting her hand on the other's shoulder.
But Mary started as if stung, and shook the hand off. “I don't want your caresses,” she said, after hastily glancing round the room to make sure that Constance was not in it. “I am not glad, I can assure you. I was wrong to say that you had plotted to get me to meet him; it was not the literal truth, but I had good grounds to think it. All that has happened has been through your machinations. I should have gone on hating him always if you had not worked on my feelings in that way. You have made me forgive that man, and I almost hate you for it. If the result should be something you little expect—if it brings an end to our friendship—you will only have yourself to thank for it.”
Fan looked hurt at the words, but made no reply. Mary sat for some time in sullen silence, and then rose to go.
“I can't stay any longer,” she said. “I feel too much disgusted with myself for having been such a fool to remain any longer with you.” Then, in a burst of passion, she added, “And that girl—Mrs. Chance—unless she is as pitifully meek and lamb-like as yourself, what a contemptible creature she must think me! Of course you have told her the whole delightful story. And she probably thinks that I am still—fond of him! It is horrible to think of it. For your sake I forgave him, but I wish I had died first.”
Fan caught her by the hand. “Mary, are you mad?” she exclaimed. “Oh, what a poor opinion you must have of me if you imagine that I have ever whispered a word to Constance about that affair.”
“Oh, you haven't!” said Mary beginning to smooth her ruffled plumes. “Well, I'm sorry I said it; but what explanations are you going to give of this scene? It must have surprised her very much.”