Part 18 (1/2)

”Yes; that will do nicely,” I answered.

She tripped away, and I shut and locked the door. I could not bear to encounter her face, for it was full of meaning. She treated me as though I were slightly ill, and as though she were my nurse. I hated beyond words the knowledge that she shared my secret with me; but then, of course, I had no secret, for although Vernon Carbury had said those wonderful, those amazing words, I did not love him back again. How was it possible that I, a girl who respected myself, could love a man who a few weeks before had been engaged to another?

I sat in my room, leaning back in my comfortable chair; then I started up and paced the floor impatiently; then I tried very hard to make myself angry with Captain Carbury--I wanted to force myself even to hate him a little bit--but I did not succeed. I could only remember the look in his eyes, and the smile on his lips, and the thrill in his voice, when he told me how he cared for me, and I could only recall the fact that I certainly would meet him at eleven o'clock on the following morning in Hyde Park.

Morris must share my secret. It was a terrible thing to reflect about, but I could not go to Hyde Park alone; she must, therefore, accompany me. Well, that would end the whole thing. I would tell dear, kind Vernon that all my life long I would remember his good words to me, and that I would ever and ever keep him in my gallery of heroes, but that, of course--and I knew that I must speak very steadily and firmly at this juncture of my conversation--I could never love him, nor, by any possibility, marry him. I should be quite pleased to be his friend, but beyond that anything else was impossible.

There came a tap at my door. It was Morris, bearing a tray with some delicately-prepared tea, some fragrant toast, some little pats of delicious b.u.t.ter, on a silver tray, and a nice, fresh, brown egg, lightly boiled. Morris carried the tray in one hand; in the other she held a great basket full of the most exquisite roses I had ever seen in my life.

”For you, Miss Dalrymple,” she said, and she laid the basket of roses on the dressing-table.

”Oh! oh!” I said. I adored flowers, and I buried my face now in the fragrant blooms.

”Aren't they beautiful, miss?” remarked Morris. ”They must have cost a small fortune.”

My cheeks were very red indeed, nor did I look up from sniffing at the flowers until Morris had left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Then I rose slowly, and carrying the basket with me, laid it on the floor at my feet. I sat down by the table, where my small lunch awaited me, but I did not care to eat. I began carefully to take one beautiful blossom after another out of the basket. Of course, Vernon Carbury had sent these flowers to me; there was no doubt whatever on the subject.

How reckless of him--how wrong of him! And yet, how splendidly nice and delightful of him! But I must speak to him on this very point to-morrow.

He was, of course, far from rich, and he must on no account spend his money on me; I would not permit it for a moment. Still, it was delightful to sniff these roses, and to think of him, and to wonder, deep down in my heart, what he could find in a little, insignificant girl like me to love.

I had finished my tea and was standing by the window, when, to my amazement, I heard a firm and determined knock at the door. Whoever the person was who waited without, she did not linger long; she turned the handle of the door and entered.

It was my stepmother. Her eyes lighted up with pleasure as they fell on the beautiful basket of hothouse roses.

”Ah!” she said, ”I might have guessed as much. This explains everything, and how lovely!”

”I thought you were on the river,” I said.

”A tiresome thing happened,” she replied, ”and I have come back. Aren't those flowers lovely?”

”Yes,” I said. I felt quite pleased and surprised at her sympathy. Was it possible that I had been mistaken in her all the time? Was she really the sort of woman who would wish me to care about a man like Captain Carbury?

She came up to me and put her hand on my shoulder.

”Heather,” she said, ”you are one of the lucky people of the world. I knew that, from the moment I laid my eyes on you; I told your father so, and for some time we both have seen what was coming. Yes; you are of the fortunate ones of the earth. Remember, Heather, in your days of prosperity, that you will always have to thank me for this.”

”But nothing is coming,” I answered, for although I was surprised and liked her for her sympathy, I would not even pretend that I cared for Vernon Carbury. Then I continued:

”It was impossible for you to know it, whatever you mean by 'it,' for any length of time, for he has only just broken off----”

”He--he has only just broken off!” exclaimed my stepmother. ”What are you talking of, child? Really, Heather, you are the most tiresome girl I ever met. What you want, my dear, is an early engagement, and a quick marriage.”

”Oh, just what--what----”

”Now again you interrupt--I cannot understand you in the very least.

What do you mean by 'just what--what'?”

”Nothing, mother,” I said. It hurt me awfully to say the word, but I forced myself to do it, for father's sake.