"Oh! Then it's all right. Of course, I _suppose_ you know your own business. Still--Jack--I can't help feeling there's something queer--some sort of mystery. Don't let yourself be deceived."
"I hope not, I'm sure. But--oh, _do_ forgive me!--it's Lord Severance she loves."
"Then the sooner she unloves him the better it will be all around."
"I know you think I'm a meddler. But remember we're friends. Remember Mothereen told me to be your friend, Jack. Those two Sorel women think Severance the perfect beau ideal of a man. They look upon you--oh, I can't say it!"
"You needn't," Garth drily assured her; "I'm a cad; a bounder; a lout."
"The _beasts_! I hate them both!" Zélie gasped. "They're not worthy to black your boots."
"You're right to snub me. I won't say any more. You must go your own way, and I hope--I hope with all my heart" (Zélie choked a little) "you'll never regret it. But just this _one_ thing let me beg you to do. Whatever they're up to, don't give them the chance to despise you. I mean, in little things. They _can't_ in big! I saw the way they looked at--at your clothes Sunday afternoon, Jack. I could have _thrown_ something at them!--not the clothes, but the Sorels--and Severance, the conceited Greek snob! But the clothes _weren't_ right, boy. They didn't do you justice. They had a sort of 'Sunday-go-to-meeting' look: kind of _smug_! And your gloves and shoes _just_ the wrong yellow! For heaven's sake don't lose a minute in going to a good tailor if you don't want your life to be a hell!"
Garth laughed out, a hard, spasmodic laugh; and at that instant Marise came in.
A girl in love with one man, flinging herself at the head of another out of pique or something worse, should have been utterly careless how she appeared to the eyes of the latter. But for some reason--she hardly knew what--Marise had been anxious to look her most desirable. She was dressed in black velvet with shimmering fringes, and a drooping black velvet hat which made her fairness dazzling, her yellowish-brown hair bright gold.
With a faint smile, and in silence, she held out her hand. Garth took it, and this time didn't crush it unduly.
Zélie, who had risen as Garth rose, began pinning on her toque, but Marise turned to her. "Don't go, Miss Marks," she said. "I've told you the secret, and maybe we shall need your help about something. I don't want my mother here till everything's arranged. It doesn't matter about you."