To her own small public Leo, before her widowhood, had always appeared the gayest of the gay. It was her _rôle_ to be jocund and amusing, and no one took her seriously. But there was another side to her character which she had always been at pains to conceal, partly because it would have met with but scant sympathy from others, partly because she was afraid of it herself,--and of late she had been more and more conscious of the existence of this undercurrent of thought and feeling.
Even had there been no cause for sadness, she would frequently have felt sad. The influences of Nature moved her. Certain sights and sounds oppressed her. From her dreams she often woke in tears.
And now that the first fury as regarded Sue had spent itself, this causeless dejection of spirit took its place. She was no longer bitter against Sue; she would have liked to take her sister to her heart and comfort her. She would have liked--oh, how she would have liked--to confide to her, to some one, to any one the dim confused tumult of half-formed regrets and yearnings--"Oh, I have lost something that I never had!"--she cried aloud.
But who so bold and merry as this elfin Leo an hour afterwards?
"I have brought Mr. Custance in to tea, father. Oh, father, I want you; I have heaps of things to ask you about. I'm always forgetting them, because you are so seldom in at tea. I met Mr. Custance marching off in another direction," continued Leo, looking round, "but I just marched him up here instead,"--and she awaited applause.
It was a masterstroke, and so Sybil pronounced it afterwards. "No one but you would have dared, you audacious imp," she shook the strategist by the shoulder. "After that rumpus!"
"It was rather a shame dragging the poor innocent man into the rumpus, and Sue was really hurt," quoth Leo, with a guileless air. "There was nothing for it but to make use of her _permission_, and not only 'see the rector' but haul him along."
She had told herself that nothing would so effectually do away with any fear of self-betrayal on Sue's part, as this easy introduction of a guest never less expected and perhaps never more welcome. She had waylaid the well-known figure from whom she had formerly fled, and her end was attained.