The old peer's face had turned to granite. A variety of expressions shifted across Harry's while his uncle continued,--"Yes, you had better go to town, as you have raised expectations here you seem to have no intention of fulfilling--_at present_," and he rose from his chair and held out his hand to his nephew. "Good-bye, Harry. You have something else to think of now; and when you return I hope you will have more sense."
It was not manly--it was not heroic--but with the wisdom of the children of this world, Dutton passed from his uncle's presence with his secret still unrevealed.
The watcher at the library window saw another carriage drive round. This time it was a double dog-cart, and two or three leather portmanteaus were being disposed on it at a side door.
Already! Geraldine grew nervous. He might come in at any moment, or perhaps would not know any of the ladies had remained at home.
"Still, he could _ask_," whispered her heart. She had not long to remain in suspense. Harry came out, jumped into the dog-cart, and gathered up the reins; then he looked up and saw Geraldine's stricken face. He blushed hotly as he took off his hat, and shot one sorrowful glance from his eyes ere he drove off, at headlong speed, to the station.
Is this my lord of Leicester's love, That he so oft have swore to me? To leave me in this lonely grove? Immured in shameful privity? --Unknown.
Bluebell, a lonely little recluse at the cottage, seemed to have passed a lifetime there, so long were the uneventful days. She was not exactly unhappy, being too young and healthy to be a prey to low spirits. Still, her life could hardly be called satisfactory. In the first days of their marriage she would exclaim in her heart. "Oh, to be sometimes alone;" then, with the suddenness of a transformation-scence, her wish had been but too abundantly accomplished.
It was weeks since she had heard from Dutton, whose first letter had never been repeated, and she begun to believe that the headlong passion that had led him to force her, almost against her will, into marriage with him was as short-lived as it had been quickly kindled.
She remembered Bertie Du Meresq, who had appeared quite as desperate at first, and then had quietly transferred his affections to Cecil. Like the Psalmist, she could have "said in her heart, all men are liars."