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guide my

life; but now that I have blurted it, it is dishonoured, and I am

dishonoured with it. That I was myself half dead with the agony of

suspense is no excuse; I say that I am dishonoured.”

 

To the listening Emma all these sentiments, natural as they might be

to a girl of Emma’s exalted temperament and spotless purity of mind,

were as speeches made in the Hebrew tongue—indeed, within herself she

did not hesitate to characterise her friend as “a high-flown little

idiot.” But, as she could not quite see what would be the best line to

take in answering her, she satisfied herself with shaking her head as

though in dissent, and looking sympathetic.

 

“What torments me most,” went on Emma, who by now was thoroughly

worked up—“I can say it to you, for you are a woman and will

understand—is the thought that those shameless words might possibly

come to your brother’s ears. Three people heard them—Lady Graves,

yourself and my father. Of course I know that neither you nor your

mother would betray me, for, as I say, you are women and will feel for

me; but, oh! I cannot be sure of my father. I know what he desires;

and if he thought that he could advance his object, I am not certain

that I could trust him—no, although he has promised to be silent:

though, indeed, to tell your brother would be the surest way to defeat

himself; for, did he learn the truth, such a man would despise me for

ever.”

 

“My dear girl,” said Ellen boldly, for she felt that the situation

required courage, “do calm yourself. Of course no one would dream of

betraying to Henry what you insist upon calling an indiscretion, but

what I thought a very beautiful avowal made under touching

circumstances.” Then she paused, and added reflectively, “I only see

one danger.”

 

“What danger?” asked Emma.

 

“Well, it has to do with that girl—Joan somebody—who brought about

all this trouble, and who is nursing Henry, very much against my wish.

I happen to have found out that she was listening at the door when Dr.

Childs came into the room that night, just before you fainted, and it

is impossible to say how long she had been there, and equally

impossible to answer for her discretion.”

 

“Joan Haste—that lovely woman! Of course she heard, and of course she

will tell him. I was afraid of her the moment that I saw her, and now

I begin to see why, though I believe that this is only the beginning

of the evils which she will bring upon me. I am sure of it: I feel it

in my heart.”

 

“I think that you are alarming yourself quite unnecessarily, Emma. It

is possible that this girl may repeat anything that she chances to

overhear, and it is probable that she will do her best to strike up a

flirtation with Henry, if he is foolish enough to allow it; for

persons of this kind always avail themselves of such an

opportunity—generally with a view to future compensation. But Henry

is a cautious individual, who has never been known to commit himself

in that fashion, and I don’t see why he should begin now; though I do

think it would be a good thing if that young lady could be sent about

her business. At the worst, however, there would only be some

temporary entanglement, such as happens every day, and means nothing

serious.”

 

“Nothing serious? I am sure it would be serious enough if that girl

had to do with it: she is not a flirt—she looks too strong and

earnest for that kind of thing; and if once she made him fond of her,

she would never let him go.”

 

“Perhaps,” answered Ellen; “but first of all she has to make him fond

of her, and I have reasons for knowing, even if she wishes to do this,

that she will find it a little difficult.”

 

“What reasons?” asked Emma.

 

“Only that a man like Henry does not generally fall in love with two

women at the same time,” Ellen answered drily.

 

“Is he—is he already in love, then?”

 

“Yes, dear; unless I am very much mistaken, he is already in

love—with you.”

 

“I doubt it,” Emma answered, shaking her head. “But even if it should

be so, there will be an end of it if he hears of my behaviour on that

night. And he is sure to hear: I know that he will hear.”

 

And, as though overcome by the bitterness of her position, Emma put

her hands before her eyes, then turned suddenly and walked into the

house.

CHAPTER XII

ELLEN FINDS A REMEDY

 

When Emma had gone Ellen settled herself comfortably in a garden

chair, sighed, and began to fan her face with a newspaper which lay at

hand. Her mind was agitated, for it had become obvious to her that the

position was full of complications, which at present her well-meant

efforts had increased rather than diminished.

 

“I only hope that I may be forgiven for all the white lies I have been

forced to tell this morning,” she reflected. Ellen did not consider

her various embellishments of the truth as deserving of any harsher

name, since it seemed to her not too sensitive conscience, that if

Jove laughs at lovers’ perjuries, he must dismiss with a casual smile

the prevarications of those who wish to help other people to become

lovers.

 

Still Ellen felt aggrieved, foreseeing the possibility of being found

out and placed in awkward positions. Oh, what fools they were, and how

angry she was with both of them—with Emma for her schoolgirlish

sentiment, and with Henry for his idiotic pride and his headstrong

obstinacy! Surely the man must be mad to wish to fling away such a

girl as Emma and her fortune, to say nothing of the romantic devotion

that she cherished for him, little as he deserved it—a devotion which

Ellen imagined would have been flattering to the self-conceit of any

male. It was hard on her that she should be obliged to struggle

against such rank and wrong-headed stupidity, and even driven to

condescend to plots and falsehoods. After all, it was not for her own

benefit that she did this, or only remotely so, since she was well

provided for; though it was true that, should she become involved in

an immediate financial scandal, her matrimonial prospects might be

affected.

 

No, it was for the benefit of her family, the interests of which, to

do her justice, Ellen had more at heart than any other earthly thing,

her own welfare of course expected. Should this marriage fall through,

ruin must overtake their house, and their name would be lost, in all

probability never to be heard again. It seemed impossible to her that

her brother should wish to reject the salvation which was so freely

proffered to him; and yet, maddening as the thought might be, she

could not deny that she saw signs of such a desire. Well, she would

not give up the game; tired as she was of it, she would fight to the

last ditch. Were she to draw back now, she felt that she should fail

in her most sacred duty.

 

As Ellen came to this determination she saw Mr. Levinger walking

towards her. He was leaning on his stick, as usual, and looked

particularly refined in his summer suit and grey wide-awake hat.

 

“How do you do, Miss Graves?” he said, in his gentle voice: “I heard

that you were here, but did not come out because I thought you might

wish to have a chat with Emma. Where has she gone?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ellen answered, as they shook hands.

 

“Well, I dare say that she will be back presently. How hot it is here!

Would you like to come and sit in my study till luncheon is ready?”

And he led the way to a French window that opened on to the lawn.

 

Mr. Levinger’s study was a very comfortable room, and its walls were

lined with books almost to the ceiling. Books also lay about on the

desk. Evidently he had risen from reading one of them, and Ellen

noticed with surprise that it was Jeremy Taylor’s “Holy Living.”

 

“How is your brother to-day?” he asked, when they were seated.

 

Ellen reflected a moment, and determined to take advantage of the

opportunity to unbosom herself.

 

“He is doing as well as possible, thank you. Still I am anxious about

him.”

 

“Why? I thought that he was clear of all complications except the

chance of a limp like mine.”

 

“I did not mean that I was anxious about his health, Mr. Levinger. I

am sure that you will forgive me if I am frank with you, so I will

speak out.”

 

He bowed expectantly, and Ellen went on:

 

“My father has told me, and indeed I know it from what you have said

to me at different times, that for various reasons you would be glad

if Henry and Emma—made a match of it.”

 

Again Mr. Levinger bowed.

 

“I need not say that our family would be equally glad; and that Emma

herself would be glad we learned from what she said the other day.

There remains therefore only one person who could object—Henry

himself. As you know, he is a curiously sensitive man, especially

where money matters are concerned, and I believe firmly that the fact

of this marriage being so greatly to his advantage, and to that of his

family, is the one thing which makes him hesitate, for I am sure, from

the way in which he has spoken of her, that he is much attracted by

Emma. Had he come here to stay, however, I fancy that all this would

have passed off, and by now they might have been happily engaged, or

on the verge of it; but you see, this accident happened, and he is

laid up—unfortunately, not here.”

 

“He will not be laid up for ever, Miss Graves. As you say, I am

anxious for this marriage, and I hope that it will come about in due

course.”

 

“No, he will not be laid up for ever; but what I fear is, that it may

be too long for Emma’s and his own welfare.”

 

“You must pardon me, but I do not quite understand.”

 

“Then you must pardon me if I speak to you without reserve. You may

have noticed that there is a singularly handsome girl at the Bradmouth

inn. I mean Joan Haste.”

 

At the mention of this name Mr. Levinger rose suddenly from his chair

and walked to the end of the room, where he appeared to lose himself

in the contemplation of the morocco backs of an encyclopedia.

Presently he turned, and it struck Ellen that his face was strangely

agitated, though at this distance she could not be sure.

 

“Yes, I know the girl,” he said in his usual voice—“the one who

brought about the accident. What of her?”

 

“Only this: I fear that, unless something is done to prevent it, she

may bring about another and a greater accident. Listen, Mr. Levinger.

I have no facts to go on, or at least very few, but I have my eyes and

my instinct. If I am not mistaken, Joan Haste is in love with Henry,

and doing her best to make him in love with her—an effort in which,

considering her opportunities, her great personal advantages, and the

fact that men generally do become fond of their nurses, she is likely

enough to succeed, for he is just the kind

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