How long she sat gazing with unseeing eyes down the valley Honora did not know. Distant mutterings of thunder aroused her; the evening sky had darkened, and angry-looking clouds of purple were gathering over the hills. She rose and hurried homeward. She had thought to enter by the billiard-room door, and so gain her own chamber without encountering the household; but she had reckoned without her hostess. Beyond the billiard room, in the little entry filled with potted plants, she came face to face with that lady, who was inciting a footman to further efforts in his attempt to close a recalcitrant skylight. Honora proved of more interest, and Mrs. Holt abandoned the skylight.
“Why, my dear,” she said, “where have you been all afternoon?”
“I—I have been walking with Mr. Erwin, Mrs. Holt. I have been showing him Silverdale.”
“And where is he? It seems to me I invited him to stay all night, and Joshua tells me he extended the invitation.”
“We were in the little summer-house, and suddenly he discovered that it was late and he had to catch the seven o'clock train,” faltered Honora, somewhat disconnectedly. “Otherwise he would have come to you himself and told you—how much he regretted not staying. He has to go to St. Louis to-night.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Holt, “this is an afternoon of surprises. The Vicomte has gone off, too, without even waiting to say good-by.”
“The Vicomte!” exclaimed Honora.
“Didn't you see him, either, before he left?” inquired Mrs. Holt; “I thought perhaps you might be able to give me some further explanation of it.”
“I?” exclaimed Honora. She felt ready to sink through the floor, and Mrs. Holt's delft-blue eyes haunted her afterwards like a nightmare.
“Didn't you see him, my dear? Didn't he tell you anything?”