All this time he had stood very still and looked at her, but his face had changed slowly as she spoke.  I knew then that what she had said had not pleased him.  She went on in her babbling, soft voice: 

“His sister Sophie isn’t pleased, of course, so there is nothing said about it here.  It is rather hard for her, for the place belongs to Richard, and besides, Richard has been very generous to her always.  And then to see him marry just such a sort of person—­you know—­so young—­”

“Yes—­so young,” said Mr. Langenau, between his teeth, “and of such charming innocence.”

“Oh, as to that,” said Mary Leighton, piqued beyond prudence, “we all have our own views as to that.”

The largess due the bearer of good news was not by right the meed of Mary Leighton.  He looked at her as if he hated her.

“Mr. Richard Yandermarck is a fortunate man,” he said.  “She has rare beauty, if he has a taste for beauty.”

“Men sometimes tire of that; if indeed she has it.  Her coloring is her strong point, and that may not last forever;” and Mary’s voice was no longer silvery.

“You think so?” he said.  “I think her grace is her strong point, ’la grace encore plus belle que la beaute,’ and longer-lived beside.  Few women move as she does, making it a pleasure to follow her with the eyes.  And her height and suppleness:  at twenty-five she will be regal.”

“Then, Mr. Langenau,” she cried, with sudden spitefulness, “you do admire her very much yourself!  Do you know, I thought perhaps you did.  How you must envy Mr. Vandermarck!”

A slight shrug of the shoulders and a slight low laugh; after which, he said, “No, I think not.  I have not the courage that is necessary.”

“The courage! why, what do you mean by that?”

“I mean that a man who ventures to love a woman in whom he cannot trust, has need for courage and for patience; perhaps Mr. Richard Vandermarck has them both abundantly.  For me, I think the pretty Miss Pauline would be safer as an hour’s amusement than as a life’s companion.”

The words stabbed, killed me.  With an ejaculation that could scarcely have escaped their ears, I sprang up and ran through the hall and up the stairs.  Before I reached the landing-place, I knew that some one was behind me.  I did not look or pause, but flew on through the hall till I reached my own door.  My own door was just at the foot of the third-floor stairway.  I glanced back, and saw that it was Mr. Langenau who was behind me.  I pushed open my door and went half-way in the room; then with a vehement and sudden impulse came back into the hall and pulled it shut again and stood with my hand upon the latch, and waited for him to pass.  In an instant more he was near me, but not as if he saw me; he could not reach the stairway without passing so near me that he must touch my dress.  I waited till he was so near, and said, “Mr. Langenau.”