“You see,” said Ethel, as she sank down again—­“you see how true my impression is.”

“I must say,” said Mrs. Willoughby, “that I thought of this before.  I fully expected that he would make some inquiry after you.  I was so confident in the noble character of the man, both from your story and the description of others, that I could not believe you were right.  But you are right, my poor Ethel.  I wish I could comfort you, but I can not.  Indeed, my dear, not only has he not questioned me about you, but he evidently avoids me.  It is not that he is engrossed with Minnie, for he is not so; but he certainly has some reason of his own for avoiding me.  Whenever he speaks to me there is an evident effort on his part, and though perfectly courteous, his manner leaves a certain disagreeable impression.  Yes, he certainly has some reason for avoiding me.”

“The reason is plain enough,” murmured Ethel.  “He wishes to prevent you from speaking about a painful subject, or at least a distasteful one.  He keeps you off at a distance by an excess of formality.  He will give you no opportunity whatever to introduce any mention of me.  And now let me also ask you this—­does he ever take any notice of any allusion that may be made to me?”

“I really don’t remember hearing any allusion to you.”

“Oh, that’s scarcely possible!  You and Minnie must sometimes have alluded to ‘Ethel.’”

“Well, now that you put it in that light, I do remember hearing Minnie allude to you on several occasions.  Once she wondered why ‘Ethel’ did not ride.  Again she remarked how ‘Ethel’ would enjoy a particular view.”

“And he heard it?”

“Oh, of course.”

“Then there is not a shadow of a doubt left.  He knows I am here.  He has forgotten me so totally, and is so completely indifferent, that he comes here and pays attention to another who is in the very same house with me.  It is hard.  Oh, Kitty, is it not?  Is it not bitter?  How could I have thought this of him?”

A high-hearted girl was Ethel, and a proud one; but at this final confirmation of her worst fears there burst from her a sharp cry, and she buried her face in her hands, and moaned and wept.

CHAPTER XII.

GIRASOLE AGAIN.

One day Mrs. Willoughby and Minnie were out driving.  Hawbury was riding by the carriage on the side next Minnie, when suddenly their attention was arrested by a gentleman on horseback who was approaching them at an easy pace, and staring hard at them.  Minnie’s hand suddenly grasped her sister’s arm very tightly, while her color came and went rapidly.

“Oh dear!” sighed Mrs. Willoughby.

“Oh, what shall I do?” said Minnie, in a hasty whisper.  “Can’t we pretend not to see him?”

“Nonsense, you little goose,” was the reply.  “How can you think of such rudeness?”

By this time the gentleman had reached them, and Mrs. Willoughby stopped the carriage, and spoke to him in a tone of gracious suavity, in which there was a sufficient recognition of his claims upon her attention, mingled with a slight hauteur that was intended to act as a check upon his Italian demonstrativeness.