“Mr Rutherford!” she echoed. “He is father’s friend—not mine!”
“When I was at Park Lane the other night I noticed the marked attention he paid you—how he—”
“Oh! you are awfully foolish, Mr Homfray—Roddy! He surely pays me no attention.”
“You did not notice it, but I did!” cried the young man, whose heart was torn by fierce jealousy.
“Well, if he did, then I am certainly quite unaware of it.”
His hand closed fast and warm upon hers. “Ah!” he cried, his eyes seeking hers with eager wistfulness, “I do not wonder. Once I should have wondered, but now—I understand. He is rich,” he said softly and very sadly. “And, after all, I am only an adventurer.”
“What are you saying?” cried the girl.
“I know the truth,” he replied bitterly. “If you ever loved me you would one day repent, for I have nothing to offer you, Elma. I ought to be content with my life—it is good enough in its way, though nameless and fruitless also, perhaps. Yes, it is foolish of me to object to the attentions which Mr Rutherford pays you. He returned from Paris specially last Wednesday to be at your party.”
“I cannot understand!” she declared. “I do not want to understand! You are foolish, Roddy. I have no liking for Mr Rutherford. None whatever!”
“Are you quite certain of that?” he cried, again looking eagerly into her face with a fierce expression such as she had never seen before upon his handsome countenance.