Twenty minutes
after parting from Lady Dauntrey, he rang the bell of her villa, and was
told by an untidy servant that Miss Grant was at home.
Mary was waiting in the house to receive Mrs. Winter, who had been
persuaded by Carleton to overlook the girl's neglect, and to call once
more, with him. Dick had asked Mary not to speak of the visit in advance
to Lady Dauntrey, as his cousin wanted a chance for a talk,
uninterrupted by the mistress of the villa; and Mary half guiltily,
though with a certain pleasure, had consented. Instinctively she guessed
that Eve would have taken the call for herself, and that Mrs. Winter
would have found little time to chat with any one else. It was hateful
to be hypercritical, Mary felt, yet she had begun to see that Lady
Dauntrey was curiously jealous of her; that she did not like to see her
talk with strangers, or alone even with other guests of the house.
When the cure of Roquebrune was ushered in, Mary was expecting Dick to
arrive with his cousin; but for the moment she was alone in the
drawing-room which she had made less depressing by a generous gift of
flowers. The alertness with which the girl sprang up, on his entrance,
and the quick change of expression told the cure that she was expecting
another visitor. "Could it be the Prince?" was the question which darted
through his mind. But, no. There was neither disappointment nor relief
on her face, only surprise. He argued in consequence that the visitor
was not awaited with emotion.
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