'If Blanche does n't please him, he is certainly difficult;' and Angela mused a little. 'But you told me the other day that they were getting on so well.'
'Yes, I believe I told you,' Bernard answered, musing a little too.
'You are not attending to what I say.'
'No, I am thinking of something else—I am thinking of what it was that made you refuse him that way, at the last, after you had let your mother hope.' And Bernard stood there, smiling at her.
'Don't think any more; you will not find out,' the girl declared, turning away.
'Ah, it was cruel of you to let me think I was wrong all these years,' he went on; 'and, at the time, since you meant to refuse him, you might have been more frank with me.'
'I thought my fault had been that I was too frank.'
'I was densely stupid, and you might have made me understand better.'
'Ah,' said Angela, 'you ask a great deal of a girl!'
'Why have you let me go on so long thinking that my deluded words had had an effect upon Gordon—feeling that I had done you a brutal wrong? It was real to me, the wrong—and I have told you of the pangs and the shame which, for so many months, it has cost me! Why have you never undeceived me until to-day, and then only by accident?'
At this question Angela blushed a little; then she answered, smiling—
'It was my vengeance.'
Bernard shook his head.
'That won't do—you don't mean it. You never cared—you were too proud to care; and when I spoke to you about my fault, you did n't even know what I meant. You might have told me, therefore, that my remorse was idle, that what I said to Gordon had not been of the smallest consequence, and that the rupture had come from yourself.'
For some time Angela said nothing, then at last she gave him one of the deeply serious looks with which her face was occasionally ornamented.
'If you want really to know, then—can't you see that your remorse seemed to me connected in a certain way with your affection; a sort of guarantee of it? You thought you had injured some one or other, and that seemed to be mixed up with your loving me, and therefore I let it alone.'
'Ah,' said Bernard, 'my remorse is all gone, and yet I think I love you about as much as ever! So you see how wrong you were not to tell me.'
'The wrong to you I don't care about. It is very true I might have told you for Mr. Wright's sake. It would perhaps have made him look better. But as you never attacked him for deserting me, it seemed needless for me to defend him.'
'I confess,' said Bernard, 'I am quite at sea about Gordon's look in the matter. Is he looking better now—or is he looking worse? You put it very well just now; I was attending to you, though you said I was not. If he hoped you would refuse him, with whom is his quarrel at present? And why was he so cool to me for months after we parted at Baden? If that was his state of mind, why should he accuse me of inconsistency?'
'There is something in it, after all, that a woman can understand. I don't know whether a man can. He hoped I would refuse him, and yet when I had done so he was vexed. After a while his vexation subsided, and he married poor Blanche; but, on learning to-day that I had accepted you, it flickered up again. I suppose that was natural enough; but it won't be serious.'
'What will not be serious, my dear?' asked Mrs. Vivian, who had come back to the drawing-room, and who, apparently, could not hear that the attribute in question was wanting in any direction, without some alarm.
'Shall I tell mamma, Bernard?' said Angela.
'Ah, my dear child, I hope it 's nothing that threatens your mutual happiness,' mamma murmured, with gentle earnestness.
'Does it threaten our mutual happiness, Bernard?' the girl went on, smiling.
'Let Mrs. Vivian decide whether we ought to let it make us miserable,' said Bernard. 'Dear Mrs. Vivian, you are a casuist, and this is a nice case.'
'Is it anything about poor Mr. Wright?' the elder lady inquired.
'Why do you say 'poor' Mr. Wright?' asked Bernard.
'Because I am sadly afraid he is not happy with Blanche.'
'How did you discover that—without seeing them together?'
'Well, perhaps you will think me very fanciful,' said Mrs. Vivian; 'but it was by the way he looked at Angela. He has such an expressive face.'
'He looked at me very kindly, mamma,' Angela observed.
'He regularly stared, my daughter. In any one else I should have said it was rude. But his situation is so peculiar; and one could see that he admired you still.' And Mrs. Vivian gave a little soft sigh.
'Ah! she is thinking of the thirty thousand a year,' Bernard said to himself.
'I am sure I hope he admires me still,' the girl cried, laughing. 'There is no great harm in that.'
'He was comparing you with Blanche—and he was struck with the contrast.'
'It could n't have been in my favor. If it 's a question of being looked at, Blanche bears it better than I.'
'Poor little Blanche!' murmured Mrs. Vivian, sweetly.
