“In England, Miss Regina.” He tried to take her hand—but she kept it out of his reach. “In London,” he went on, drifting back into his customary plainness of speech. “In this very street,” he resumed, seizing her hand before she was aware of him. Too much bewildered to know what else to do, Regina took refuge desperately in shaking hands with him. “Goodbye, Mr. Goldenheart,” she said—and gave him his dismissal for the second time.
Amelius submitted to his fate; there was something in her eyes which warned him that he had ventured far enough for that day.
“May I call again, soon?” he asked piteously.
“No!” answered a voice at the door which they both recognized—the voice of Mrs. Farnaby.
“Yes!” Regina whispered to him, as her aunt entered the room. Mrs. Farnaby’s interference, following on the earlier events of the day, had touched the young lady’s usually placable temper in a tender place—and Amelius reaped the benefit of it.
Mrs. Farnaby walked straight up to him, put her hand in his arm, and led him out into the hall.
“I had my suspicions,” she said; “and I find they have not misled me. Twice already, I have warned you to let my niece alone. For the third, and last time, I tell you that she is as cold as ice. She will trifle with you as long as it flatters her vanity; and she will throw you over, as she has thrown other men over. Have your fling, you foolish fellow, before you marry anybody. Pay no more visits to this house, unless they are visits to me. I shall expect to hear from you.” She paused, and pointed to a statue which was one of the ornaments in the hall. “Look at that bronze woman with the clock in her hand. That’s Regina. Be off with you—goodbye!”
Amelius found himself in the street. Regina was looking out at the dining-room window. He kissed his hand to her: she smiled and bowed. “Damn the other men!” Amelius said to himself. “I’ll call on her tomorrow.”