"What a pity!" sighed Iris, and her hand crept sympathizingly into his.
The gloomy look deepened on his face.
"Do you believe that there is a true mate for each heart, Iris?" he
asked, suddenly.
"I might better ask _you_ that question," she answered, evasively. "You
are engaged--_you_ seem to have found a heart that is the mate for your
own."
"Do you think there is such a thing as making a mistake, even in so
grave a matter?" he asked, huskily, "and that those who discover their
error should keep on straying further and further in the wrong path? Do
you not believe that there should be the most ardent love between those
who wed--and that where there is a lack of it the two should separate,
and each go his or her own way?"
Iris drooped her head; but ere she could reply--utter the words that
sprang to her lips--an exclamation of the deepest annoyance, mingled
with a fierce imprecation, was ground out from between Kendal's teeth.
There, directly in the path before them, stood Alice Lee.
Had she been standing there long? If so, she must have heard every word
that had been uttered.
Alice Lee had heard, and every word had cut to her heart like the sharp
point of a sword.
She had feared this, but had tried to reason the matter out in her own
mind; but although circumstances did look tellingly against the beauty
who had come to Gray Gables to be Dorothy Glenn's companion, yet she had
tried to make herself believe that her suspicions were groundless.
"Have you been eavesdropping?" cried Iris, springing to her feet, her
black eyes flashing luridly.
A thousand thoughts flashed through Alice Lee's mind in an instant.
No; she was too proud to let them realize that she had overheard the
perfidy of Dorothy's treacherous lover.
No; better plead ignorance, until she had time to think over the matter,
for Dorothy's sake, if not for her own.
"I have but just turned the bend in the road," she replied, with sweet
girlish dignity. "Your question, Miss Vincent, surprises me," she said.
"I have no need to answer it, I think."
"But you always do happen around just when people least expect you,
Alice Lee."
"I hope my old friends will always find my presence welcome," returned
Alice, quietly.
"To be sure, you are welcome," interposed Kendal. "Miss Vincent and I
were only conversing upon the salient points of a new novel we finished
reading yesterday. If you would care to hear it, I shall be pleased to
go over the plot with you, and hear your opinion regarding it."
"I fear it would not benefit you, for I am not much of a novel reader,
and understand very little of plots and plotting."
Was this a quiet drive at them? both thought as they looked up
instantly.
But the soft, gray eyes of Alice Lee looked innocently enough from one
to the other.
She seemed in no hurry to pass on, and Iris felt that for the second
time that afternoon her _tete-a-tete_ with handsome Harry Kendal was to
be broken up, and from this moment henceforth she owed Alice Lee more of
a grudge than ever, and she felt sure that the girl knew it.
Upon one point Alice was determined--that no matter how coldly Iris
Vincent might treat her, she should not leave Dorothy's lover alone with
her and in her power--she would stand by her poor little blind friend,
who needed her aid in this terrible hour more than she would ever know,
God help her!
Although long silences fell between the trio, still Alice lingered,
chatting so innocently that they could not find it in their hearts to be
very angry with her; and they could not bring themselves to believe that
she had a purpose in her guileless actions.
There was no alternative but to walk homeward with her; but they did not
ask her in when they reached the gates of Gray Gables, and so Alice had
no excuse to enter to see Dorothy and warn her, but was obliged to pass
on.
Mrs. Kemp and two or three of the servants were on the porch, so that
there was no opportunity to exchange but a few whispered words. They
were just about to part when Iris happened to think that Kendal had not
told her what was said of those who gather and weave autumn leaves
together, as he had promised.
She paused suddenly and looked up archly into his face.
"What about the autumn-leaf mystery?" she exclaimed. "You know you were
to tell me all about it?"
"Do you promise not to be angry with me, Iris?" he answered, in his
deep, musical voice. "You know I can not help old adages--I do not make
them."
"Why should I be angry?" she exclaimed, having a rather faint idea of
what was coming.
"Well, then," said Kendal, fixing his dark eyes full upon her, "it is
said that the youth and maiden who twine the ruby and golden leaves
together are intended for each other. There, are you so very angry?"
Iris dropped his arm with a little cry, and fled precipitately into the
house.
He walked on slowly through the great hall and into the library. He knew
Dorothy would be waiting for him, and he did not feel equal to the
ordeal of meeting her just then.
He wanted a moment to think. He felt that he was standing on the brink
of a fearful abyss, and that one more step must prove fatal to him.
Which way should he turn? He was standing face to face with the terrible
truth now, that he loved Iris Vincent madly--loved her better than his
own life--he, the betrothed of another.
But with that knowledge came another. Iris could be nothing to him, for
they were both poor.
He was sensible enough to sit down and look the future in the face. He
realized that if he should marry Iris on the spur of the moment, that
would be only the beginning of the end.
It would be all gay and bright with them for a few brief weeks, or
perhaps for a few months; then their sky would change, for Iris was not
a girl to endure poverty for love's sake. She wanted the luxuries of
life--these he could not give her; and there would be reproaches from
the lips that now had only smiles for him.
She would want diamonds and silks, and all the other feminine
extravagances so dear to the hearts of other women, and he was only a
struggling doctor, who would have to fight a hand-to-hand battle with
grim poverty. And sitting there in the arm-chair, before the glowing
grate, where he had flung himself, he pictured a life of poverty that
would spread out before him if he defied the world for love's sake.
A dingy office; a worn coat, and trousers shiny at the knees; a necktie
with a ragged edge; an unkempt beard, a last season's hat, and hunger
gnawing at his vitals.
The picture filled him with the most abject horror.
He was stylish and fastidious to a fault. He loved Iris; but did he not
equally love his own ease? He could barely tolerate Dorothy, the poor,
tender, plain little creature who lavished a world of love upon him; but
he swallowed the bitter draught of having to endure her by always
remembering that she was heiress, in all probability, to a cool million
of money, and money had been his idol all his life long. He could not
exist without it.
He was not one of the kind who could face the world manfully and snatch
from it its treasures by the sweat of his brow. No, he could not give up
this dream of wealth that was almost as much as life to him.
In the very midst of his reverie a light step crossed the library, but
he did not hear it. It was Dorothy.
She stole up quietly and knelt on the hassock beside his chair.
"What were you thinking of, Harry?" she said.
He was equal to the occasion.
"Of what or whom should I be thinking but yourself, Dorothy?" he
replied.
"It could not have been a very pleasant thought, I fear, for you sighed
deeply," she murmured.
"That is all your fancy, Dorothy," he declared--"that my thoughts were
not pleasant. True, I may have sighed, but did you never hear of such a
thing as a sigh of contentment?"
She laughed merrily.
"I have heard of it, but thought the words rather misplaced."
"I assure you they are quite true and practicable."
"Where is Iris?" she asked, suddenly.
"I am sure I do not know," he answered, trying to speak carelessly.
"I want to have a real long talk with you, Harry," she said. "I have
heard that there should be nothing but the utmost confidence between
engaged lovers. Shall it not be so with us?"
"Of course," he answered, starting rather guiltily, for he had a faint
intuition of what was coming.
"Harry," she whispered, "I want you to tell me--is it true--what they
are all saying--that you have ceased to love me?"
"All saying!" he echoed. "Who is saying it? What old busybodies are
sticking their noses in my affairs now?" he cried, with something on his
lips that sounded very like an imprecation.
"But it isn't true, is it, Harry?" she breathed. "I should want to die
if I thought it was."
"Look here, Dorothy," he cried, "if you want to believe all these
mischief-makers tell you, you will have enough to do all through your
life. You will have to either believe me or believe them. Now, which
shall it be?"
"But answer my question, 'Yes' or 'No?'" pleaded Dorothy. "I--I am
waiting for your answer, Harry."
There was a slight rustle in the doorway, and glancing up with a start,
Kendal saw Iris Vincent standing there, looking on the tender scene with
a scornful smile, and the words he would have answered died away unsaid
on his lips.