Part 54 (2/2)

She took away with her nearly everything she possessed that was of any value, for she had made up her mind never to return to Trewinion Hall, if there was any possibility of avoiding it, and that something would turn up she had the greatest confidence. Youth is ever optimistic, and Madeline could never look the dark side of things for very long together.

She had only one regret in leaving Cornwall, and that was that in all probability she would never see Rufus Sterne again. Since her interview with Micah Martin, and the confession she had wrung from Tim Polgarrow, her thoughts, of necessity, had turned in his direction, and her strongest sympathies had gone out to him afresh. She knew now that he was a much wronged man. Moreover, she could never forget what he had done for her, and the memory of what he had suffered on her account would remain with her to the last.

Still, life was made up of meetings and partings. We pa.s.s each other like s.h.i.+ps in the night, or walk side by side for a mile or two, and then drift in different directions. Rufus Sterne would forget her as she in time might forget him. He would win his way in spite of opposition and misrepresentation, for he was strong and clever, and such men nearly always came into their own in the long run.

She looked out for him on the morning they drove away from the Hall. She would have given almost anything for even a smile of recognition, but it was not to be. With a little sigh she resigned herself to the inevitable, and resolved that she would extract as much pleasure out of the tour as possible.

They spent only one night in London, and stayed at the Charing Cross Hotel for the sake of convenience. In Paris they remained three or four days. Madeline would gladly have remained longer, but Gervase was anxious to push forward to a sunnier clime. The cold, he declared, got into his bones, and he would have no pleasure of life until he found himself in a more genial climate.

At Nice they found letters waiting them which had been forwarded, and a copy of the local paper which Sir Charles had ordered to be sent every week direct from the office. For a couple of days they rested from the fatigues of the journey, and then began to make the usual excursions.

Gervase, as might have been expected, was early bitten by the fascinations of Monte Carlo, and took to running over by train most days to see the play.

Madeline was extremely grateful to be rid of his company. Not that he was obtrusive in his attentions, for on the whole he was playing his part with great tact and circ.u.mspection. But she had learned to mistrust him and despise him. Hence, the less she saw of him the happier she felt.

Time slipped away very pleasantly on the whole. Sir Charles did everything possible to make her visit to the Riviera an enjoyable one.

Indeed, he played the part of prospective father-in-law with great skill, and now and then threw out a sly hint about her cruelty in not putting poor Gervase out of his misery. But Madeline was in no humour to take hints, and Sir Charles often turned away with a look of disappointment on his face.

Beryl talked to Madeline one evening with tears in her eyes.

”I'm sure Gervase spends more time in the Casino than he ought to do,”

she said, reproachfully; ”and if he does, whose fault is it, Madeline?”

”His own fault, I should say,” she answered, sharply. ”He's surely old enough to know what is good for himself?”

”But people who are labouring under some great disappointment, or are tortured by some secret grief, sometimes gamble merely to forget their trouble.”

”Then they are very foolish.”

”You do not know, Madeline. You have never had any bitter disappointment. You have the world at your feet. You are an heiress, and will have millions when you come of age.”

”Is that so?” she asked, innocently.

”Of course it is so!” she answered. ”Why do you question me in that way?

One might think you did not know how rich you are. But I do not think, for all that, your money gives you any right to treat Gervase badly.”

”Beryl!” Madeline said, indignantly. ”Do you know what you are saying?”

”I hope I am not rude, Madeline,” was the quiet answer. ”But Gervase is my brother, and I am very proud of him, and it cuts me to the heart to see him suffer.”

”I do not think he is suffering at all,” Madeline replied. ”Indeed, he seems in very good spirits.”

”That is all put on, Madeline, as you ought to know. Gervase is deeply, pa.s.sionately attached to you. He came home from India hoping and expecting to marry you. He thought everything was settled. Cannot you imagine how hurt and humiliated he must feel?”

”I do not see why. We were not engaged.”

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