Is this another result of your influence over me?"
He put the question with an assumed gayety. Stella made no effort, on her side, to answer him in the same tone.
"I almost wish I really had some influence over you," she said, gravely and sadly.
"Why?"
"I should try to induce you to shut up your books, and choose some living companion who might restore you to your happier self."
"It is already done," said Romayne; "I have a new companion in Mr. Penrose."
"Penrose?" she repeated. "He is the friend--is he not--of the priest here, whom they call Father Benwell?"
"Yes."
"I don't like Father Benwell."
"Is that a reason for disliking Mr. Penrose?"
"Yes," she said, boldly, "because he is Father Benwell's friend."
"Indeed, you are mistaken, Miss Eyrecourt. Mr. Penrose only entered yesterday on his duties as my secretary, and I have already had reason to think highly of him. Many men, after that experience of me," he added, speaking more to himself than to her, "might have asked me to find another secretary."
Stella heard those last words, and looked at him in astonishment. "Were you angry with Mr. Penrose?" she asked innocently. "Is it possible that you could speak harshly to any person in your employment?"
Romayne smiled. "It was not what I said," he answered. "I am subject to attacks--to sudden attacks of illness. I am sorry I alarmed Mr. Penrose by letting him see me under those circumstances."
She looked at him; hesitated; and looked away again. "Would you be angry with me if I confessed something?" she said timidly.
"It is impossible I can be angry with you!"
"Mr. Romayne, I think I have seen what your secretary saw. I know how you suffer, and how patiently you bear it."
"You!" he exclaimed.
"I saw you with your friend, when you came on board the steamboat at Boulogne. Oh, no, you never noticed me! You never knew how I pitied you. And afterward, when you moved away by yourself, and stood by the place in which the engines work--you are sure you won't think the worse of me, if I tell it?"
"No! no!"
"Your face frightened me--I can't describe it--I went to your friend and took it on myself to say that you wanted him. It was an impulse--I meant well."
"I am sure you meant well." As he spoke, his face darkened a little, betraying a momentary feeling of distrust. Had she put indiscreet questions to his traveling companion; and had the Major, under the persuasive influence of her beauty, been weak enough to answer them? "Did you speak to my friend?" he asked.
"Only when I told him that he had better go to you. And I think I said afterward I was afraid you were very ill. We were in the confusion of arriving at Folkestone--and, even if I had thought it right to say more, there was no opportunity."
Romayne felt ashamed of the suspicion by which he had wronged her. "You have a generous nature," he said earnestly. "Among the few people whom I know, how many would feel the interest in me that you felt?"
"Don't say that, Mr. Romayne! You could have had no kinder friend than the gentleman who took care of you on your journey. Is he with you now in London?"
"No."
"I am sorry to hear it. You ought to have some devoted friend always near you."
She spoke very earnestly. Romayne shrank, with a strange shyness, from letting her see how her sympathy affected him. He answered lightly. "You go almost as far as my good friend there reading the newspaper," he said. "Lord Loring doesn't scruple to tell me that I ought to marry. I know he speaks with a sincere interest in my welfare. He little thinks how he distresses me."
"Why should he distress you?"
"He reminds me--live as long as I may--that I must live alone. Can I ask a woman to share such a dreary life as mine? It would be selfish, it would be cruel; I should deservedly pay the penalty of allowing my wife to sacrifice herself. The time would come when she would repent having married me."
Stella rose. Her eyes rested on him with a look of gentle remonstrance. "I think you hardly do women justice," she said softly. "Perhaps some day a woman may induce you to change your opinion." She crossed the room to the piano. "You must be tired of playing, Adelaide," she said, putting her hand caressingly on Lady Loring's shoulder.
"Will you sing, Stella?"
She sighed, and turned away. "Not to-night," she answered.
Romayne took his leave rather hurriedly. He seemed to be out of spirits and eager to get away. Lord Loring accompanied his guest to the door. "You look sad and careworn," he said. "Do you regret having left your books to pass an evening with us?"
Romayne looked up absently, and answered, "I don't know yet."
Returning to report this extraordinary reply to his wife and Stella, Lord Loring found the drawing-room empty. Eager for a little private conversation, the two ladies had gone upstairs.
"Well?" said Lady Loring, as they sat together over the fire. "What did he say?"
Stella only repeated what he had said before she rose and left him. "What is there in Mr. Romayne's life," she asked, "which made him say that he would be selfish and cruel if he expected a woman to marry him? It must be something more than mere illness. If he had committed a crime he could not have spoken more strongly. Do you know what it is?"
Lady Loring looked uneasy. "I promised my husband to keep it a secret from everybody," she said.
"It is nothing degrading, Adelaide--I am sure of that."
"And you are right, my dear. I can understand that he has surprised and disappointed you; but, if you knew his motives--" she stopped and looked earnestly at Stella. "They say," she went on, "the love that lasts longest is the love of slowest growth. This feeling of yours for Romayne is of sudden growth. Are you very sure that your whole heart is given to a man of whom you know little?"
"I know that I love him," said Stella simply.
"Even though he doesn't seem as yet to love you?" Lady Loring asked.
"All the more because he doesn't. I should be ashamed to make the confession to any one but you. It is useless to say any more. Good-night."
Lady Loring allowed her to get as far as the door, and then suddenly called her back. Stella returned unwillingly and wearily. "My head aches and my heart aches," she said. "Let me go away to my bed."
"I don't like you to go away, wronging Romayne perhaps in your thoughts," said Lady Loring. "And, more than that, for the sake of your own happiness, you ought to judge for yourself if this devoted love of yours may ever hope to win its reward. It is time, and more than time, that you should decide whether it is good for you to see Romayne again. Have you courage enough to do that?"
"Yes--if I am convinced that it ought to be done."
"Nothing would make me so happy," Lady Loring resumed, "as to know that you were one day, my dear, to be his wife. But I am not a prudent person--I can never look, as you can, to consequences. You won't betray me, Stella? If I am doing wrong in telling a secret which has been trusted to me, it is my fondness for you that misleads me.