"I pity her all the more on that account."
"At all events, she is gay and happy now," pursued Sybil.
"Yes; she can be pleasant to all the world except me," cried Laurence, bitterly.
"I will not permit you to be unjust," returned Miss Chase.
"You can not deny that she is heartless and capricious; you admitted as much the other day."
"Ah, you have no sympathy with my misery."
"Do not reproach me in this way; you know it is unjust."
"But did you not own you considered her cold and hard?"
"No; I admitted that she was capricious."
"Not at all; I believe her capable of strong, even intense feeling."
"I have never witnessed any exhibition of it."
"I hope she will always remain in ignorance of it herself."
"Because it would place her in a very unhappy position. I pity any woman who is liable to make the discovery of such feelings when it is too late--when she can but sit down in passive submission to her destiny."
"Nay, you can not believe that she would fail to resist such feelings, when marriage made them a sin."
"I have never thought. I do not choose to contemplate the possibility of a thing like that."
The words grated unpleasantly on Laurence's ear; he could not tell why, but a vague suspicion in regard to Margaret woke in his mind--once roused, no power could thrust it aside.
"We go to Highcliff to-day, I believe," Sybil said, after a pause, too wise ever to push a conversation one step too far.
"Yes; that was decided last night," he answered, moodily. "I wish these people were gone; I am tired of bustle and confusion. My own stay in the country should terminate at once, only the old gentleman won't hear of it."
Miss Chase expressed her entire participation in his weariness, and noticing that the hands of the clock had crept round to the hour at which people might be expected to make their appearance, she went out of the room and did not appear again until several of the party were gathered in the breakfast-room.
Soon after noon they started upon the expedition to Highcliff, a lofty mountain that towered over a river which flowed through the valley in which Mr. Waring's property lay, and was accessible to the summit by persons on horseback.
It was a large, merry party; Margaret was recklessly gay, conscious that her lover was watching her, and growing more excited and determined to appear careless and unconcerned on that account.