"Why should I not believe you?" Her voice was calm,
but that same angry flush that had of late so often shown itself began to
rise slowly at her temples. Vancouver saw it, and thought she was blushing
at what he said.
"I trust you will," said Vancouver. "I trust that some day you will let me
tell you who that Englishwoman is."
It was horrible; he was making love to her, this wretch, whom she
despised. She turned her head away to hide the angry look in her eyes.
"Thanks--no, if you do not mind," said she. "I do not care to receive
confidences,--I always forget to forget them." It was not in order that
Pocock Vancouver might make love to her that she had sent away Bonamy
Biggielow, the harmless little poet. She wished him back again, but he was
embarked in an enterprise to dispute with Johnny Hannibal a place near
Miss St. Joseph. Mrs. Wyndham had long since disappeared.
"Will you please take me back to my aunt?" said Joe. As they passed from
the supper-room they suddenly came upon John Harrington, who was wandering
about in an unattached fashion, apparently looking for some one.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191