During the year which had elapsed since Thorne’s return from abroad, Norma had contrived to establish considerable influence over her cousin.  She studied him quietly, and adapted herself to his moods, never boring him with an over-display of interest, never chilling him with an absence of it.  Her plan was to make herself necessary to him, and in part she succeeded.  Thorne, lonely and cut adrift, came more and more frequently to his aunt’s house and exhibited more and more decidedly his preference for his cousin’s society.  The thin end of the wedge was in, and but for the move to Virginia, and its ill-starred consequences, the inevitable result must have followed.

Would it follow now?  A vision of Pocahontas, with her fair face, and her sweet gray eyes framed in a soft cloud of white, standing on the lower step of the stairway, with Thorne beside her, his head bent low over the hand he clasped, rose before Norma’s eyes and caused them to burn with jealous anger.  Here was the old thing repeating itself; here was flirtation again, the exact extent of which she could not determine.  It must be stopped at once, trampled out ere the flame should do irremediable damage.

But how?  With the question came the answer.  Norma was sure that, as yet, no knowledge of Thorne’s marriage had ever reached Pocahontas.  She would enlighten her; and in such a way that, if there had been aught of love-making on the gentleman’s part (and Norma, knowing her cousin, thought it probable there had been), every look and word and tone should seem a separate insult.

She also decided that it would be better to accept Mrs. Vincent’s invitation, and return to New York for awhile.  She knew very well why the invitation had been given, and saw through the shallow maneuvers to win her acceptance of it.  Hugh Castleton, Mrs. Vincent’s favorite brother, was in New York again, and she had not abandoned her old scheme of a match between him and her friend.  Norma felt quite competent to foil her friend’s plans in the present as she had foiled them in the past, so had no hesitation, on that score, in accepting the invitation.  It would be better to be in New York—­on the spot, while this matter should be pending.  Thorne might need advice, certainly would need sympathy and petting; he must not learn to do without her.  Even if he had only been amusing himself here, after his reprehensible wont, her presence in New York could do no harm and might be productive of good.

CHAPTER XIII.

One afternoon, several days after Thorne’s departure, Norma donned her warmest wraps and set out for a walk over to Lanarth.  It was a dull afternoon following on a morning of uncertain brightness; dark clouds, heavy with snow, hung sullenly along the horizon; and above, the sky was of a somber, leaden hue.  The air felt chill and clinging, like that of a vault; and heaven above, and earth beneath betrayed a severity of mood infinitely depressing.  Norma shivered in spite of her heavy furs, and hurried on, burying her hands in her muff.