“Who is it?” she said, quickly.
“Lafitte! I know it is he. I feel it in my soul,” he replied.
For a moment she looked at him vacantly, with parted lips and dilated eyes.
“Hurry,” she cried, breaking from him; “hurry home. Come, Wentworth. Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, with a vanishing smile, as she caught the astonished eyes of the young artist. “Ask me no questions, Richard. You shall know hereafter.”
And putting her arm in his, they went off rapidly together, followed by Harrington and Emily.
On the way, Harrington told Emily of his conjecture, and they excitedly discussed the matter till they arrived with the other two at the door of the house.
“Now, Emily and Richard,” said Muriel, “you go in. John and I are going to walk further. And, Emily,” she whispered, “tell mother I shall bring home five people to stop all night. Remember. Come, John;” and taking his arm, they went up Temple street together.
“Well, by Jupiter!” exclaimed the mystified Wentworth, “this is decidedly odd! What does it mean, Emily?”
“I cannot tell you,” replied Emily, coldly. “Will you please ring?”
Wentworth, bitterly recalled to her attitude toward him by this frigid reticence, rang the bell, and the door opening presently, they went in.