Three weeks had now passed since that 17th day of March, and Jack
Mordaunt had been introduced to Miss Easton; had walked and driven with
Miss Easton; had ridden Miss Easton's horses to the hunt three times a
week--in fact, had been seen so much in the society of the young woman
that gossips had already begun to couple their names.
If, however, Miss Easton and Mr. Mordaunt were aware of this fact, it
seemed in no wise to trouble them, nor to cause their meetings to be
less frequent. A very close observer might, if he had taken the trouble
to observe, have noticed that on these various occasions Miss Easton's
color would be slightly accentuated, and that there was a perceptible
increase in the interest she was wont to vouchsafe to the ordinary
public. But then there were no close observers, or if there were they
had other things to interest them.
On this particular day--it was then about 2 P.M.--Jack Mordaunt leaned
lazily against the office desk, deeply absorbed in the perusal of a
letter. The furrow that was quite distinct between his eyes would seem
to indicate that the contents of the same were far from agreeable.
Twice already had he read the epistle, and was now engaged in going over
it for the third time.
He was faultlessly attired in his hunting things, this being Saturday
and the run of the week. Whatever disagreeableness may have occurred,
Jack Mordaunt was at least a philosopher, and had no intention of
missing a meet so long as Miss Easton was willing to see that he was
well mounted. His single-breasted pink frock-coat was of the latest cut,
and his white moleskin breeches and black pink-top boots were the best
that London makers could turn out. His silk hat and gloves lay upon the
office desk beside him.
"You seem vastly absorbed in that letter, Mr. Mordaunt; this is the
second time I have tried to attract your attention, but with little
success. I trust the contents are more than interesting."
Jack whirled round to find himself face to face with Miss Easton. Try as
he would, the telltale blood slowly mounted to his tanned cheeks,
suffusing his entire face with a ruddy hue. Instinctively he crumpled up
the letter in his hand and thrust it into his coat-pocket, then, with a
poor attempt at a smile, answered her question. "Yes; the letter
contains disagreeable news, at least so far as I am concerned. In fact,
I will have to return to New York Sunday morning."
"But you are coming back?"