“Oh, yes!  Quite a lot!” said she, with sarcasm.  “That’s what made me take notice.  James Eustis’s girl—­and barrels of money.  She’ll be a catch.  You are clever, Howard!  But what of me?”

Mary Virginia’s heart fluttered.  Indeed, what of this other woman?

“Oh, well, there’s nothing definite yet, Evie,” said he soothingly.  A hint of impatience was betrayed in his voice.  Plainly, it irked him to be held up and questioned point-blank, at such a time and place.  Just as plainly, he wished to conciliate his jealous questioner.  “My dear girl, it would be all of two or three years before the affair could be considered.  Let well enough alone, Evie.  Let’s talk about something else.”

“No.  We will talk about this.  You are offering me a two or three years’ reprieve, are you not?  Well, and then?”

“Well, and then suppose I do marry the little thing,—­if she hasn’t changed her little mind?” said he, exasperated into punishing her.  “It wouldn’t be a bad thing for me, remember, and she’s temptingly easy to deal with—­that girl has more faith than the twelve apostles.  Heavens, Evie, don’t look like that!  My dearest girl, you don’t have to worry, anyhow.  If your—­er—­impediment hasn’t stood in my way, why should mine in yours?”

He spoke with a half-impatient, half-playful reproach.  The woman uttered a little cry.  To soothe and silence her, he kissed her.  It was very risky, of course, but then the whole situation was risky, and he took his chance like the bold player he was.  The girl crouching behind the paneled wall clenched her hands in her lap, felt her heart and brain on fire, and wondered why the sky did not fall upon the world and blot it out.

When those two had left the conservatory and she could command her trembling limbs and whip her senses back into some semblance of order, she went upstairs and got his letters.  When she came downstairs again he was standing in the hall, and he came forward eager, smiling, tender, as if his heart welcomed her; as perhaps it did, men having catholic hearts.  She put her hand on his arm and whispered:  “Come into the conservatory.”

The hall was quite empty.  From drawing-room and library and dining-room came the laughter and chatter of many people.  Then the music struck up a gay and popular air.  The lilt and swing of it made her giddy.  But the little flower-room was cool and sweet, and she drew a breath of relief.

Hunter bent his fair head, but she pushed him away with her hands against his chest.  A horror of his beauty, his deliberate fascination, the falseness of him, came over her.  For the first time she had been brought face to face with sin and falsehood, and hers was the unpardoning white condemnation of an angel to whom sin is unknown and falsehood impossible.  That such knowledge should have come through him of all men made the thing more unbearable.  Surprised and irritated by the pale tragedy of her aspect, Hunter stared, waiting for her to speak.