He was neither surprised, nor mortified, nor even discomposed. It was a check by discovery, long expected and prepared for, by no means check-mate. And he had not lost his queen. The game was by no means desperate. But he wished for time to consider his next move, and left the house without seeing Mrs. Pendarrel.
That lady immediately conjectured what had occurred, and only feared that Mildred might have affronted her suitor to such a degree as to make him abandon his intentions. He had not been very long gone before she sought an explanation from her daughter.
"Mildred, my dear child," she said, "what is the meaning of this? How happens it, that the politest of mankind leaves my house without kissing my hand?"
There was a covert irony in Mrs. Pendarrel's manner, which, against her will, betrayed her own contempt for Melcomb, and at the same time showed her ruthless resolution.
"Mamma," Mildred answered, fixing her reddened eyes on her mother's, "you know."
"Nay, child, I am not a divine. I hope you were not rude to Mr. Melcomb? To your intended husband?"
"I refused him, mamma."
"And why did you not refuse him long ago?" Mrs. Pendarrel asked abruptly.
"He never asked me, mother," answered Mildred, swinging her hand to and fro. "He never asked me. Till just now I have heard nothing from him that I could take as a proposal. How anxiously I have waited for one, God knows."
Mrs. Pendarrel bit her lip.