"No, I must have black still, Mary, and grey," I said.
"I wouldn't dear; I'd have blue, and as for invisible green, you
wouldn't know as it wasn't black."
However, Mary came to my way of thinking, and my choice of new things
was in no wise _outre_.
I seemed to be plunged into a perfect atmosphere of love just then, for
I left Revitts smiling foolishly at Mary, whose face reflected the lover
as perfectly as a mirror, and went on to Hallett's, where I
unconsciously found myself mixed up with another trouble of the kind.
I have grown wiser since, but in those days it was a puzzle to me why
people could not be friends and fond of one another without plunging
into such heart-breaking passionate ways, to their own discomfort and
that of all whom they knew.
I was rather later than usual at the Halletts', and on going upstairs,
full of my good news, I found that Mrs Hallett was in bed, and Linny
with her brother.
I ran up, tapped, and went in according to my custom, and then drew back
for it was evident that something was wrong, but Hallett called me to
stay.
"We have no secrets from you, Antony," he said excitedly. "You know
what has taken place from the first, and you are as much Linny's friend
as mine."
"Then if he is," cried Linny, stamping her little foot, "I'll appeal to
him."
"Why, Linny," I said, "what is the matter?"
"Matter!" she cried, sobbing passionately, "have I not given up to him
in all he wished? have not I obeyed him and been more like a prisoner
here than his sister? And now he is not satisfied."
"I am satisfied, my child," he said kindly. "But go on: what have I
done?"
"Done?" cried Linny; "wounded me where you knew my heart was sore;
looked upon my every act with suspicion."
"No, my child," he said quietly, as he watched the pretty, wilful little
thing more in grief than anger. "You know how happy we have been, these
last few weeks, since you have had confidence in me, and listened to my
words."
"Happy?" she cried piteously, and with her hand upon her heart.
"Yes," he said; "happy till this letter came to-day--a letter that has
swept all your promises to the winds, and sown dissension between us.
Once more, will you show me the letter?"
"Once more," cried Linny passionately, "no! You assume too much. Even
if you were my father, you could do no more."
"I stand to you, my dear child, in the place of your dead father. Your
honour is as dear to me as it would have been to him."
"My honour!" echoed Linny. "Stephen, you degrade me, by talking in this
way before a comparative stranger."
"Antony Grace is not a comparative stranger," said Hallett quietly. "If
he were your own brother he could not have acted better to us both. I
speak out before him, because I look to Antony, boy though he be, to
help me to watch over you and protect you, since you are so weak."
"To act as your spy?"
"No," he said sadly, "we will not degrade ourselves by acting as spies,
but you force it upon me, Linny, to take stern measures. You refuse to
show me this letter?"
"I do. I would die first!" cried Linny.
"My poor child," he said sadly, "there is no need. I can read it in
your transparent little face. You thought, I believe, in the first hot
sting of your wrong that night, that you had plucked this foolish love
from your breast; and so long as he remained silent you were at rest.
But now he writes to you and says--"
"Hush, Stephen! You shall not before Antony Grace."
"Why not?" he cried. "He says in this letter that he has been wretched
ever since; that he begs your pardon for the past; that upon your
forgiveness depends his future; and he implores you, by all you hold
sacred, to grant him an interview, that he may be forgiven."
"Stephen!" cried Linny, but he went mercilessly on.
"And the foolish, trusting little heart, unused to the wiles of this
world, leaped at the words, forgave him on the instant, and a brother's
words, her own promises, the vows of amendment, all are forgotten," he
said angrily, as his face now grew white and his hands clenched, "and
all for the sake of a man who is an utter scoundrel!"
"How dare you!" cried Linny, and the hot passionate blood flashed to her
little cheeks. Her eyes flamed, her teeth were set, and, in an access
of rage, she struck her brother across the lips with the back of her
hand. "How dare you call him a scoundrel?" she cried.
"Because," said Hallett--while I stood by, unutterably shocked by the
scene, which was the more intense from the low voices in which brother
and sister spoke, they being in unison on the point that Mrs Hallett
should not hear their quarrel--"because," said Hallett, "his conduct is
that of a villain. While professing love for you, he insults you. He
tells you you are more dear to him than life, and he skulks like a thief
and does not show his face. If he loved you--"
"Love! What do you know of love?" cried Linny passionately. "You--you
cold-blooded groveller, without soul to worship anything greater than
that!"
As she spoke, she stood with her head thrown back, looking the picture
of scorn and rage, as she contemptuously pointed at poor Hallett's
model; while he, weak, nervous, and overwrought--stung almost to
madness, caught her sharply by the shoulder, and in her fear she sank on
her knees at his feet.
"My God!"