Ida had found her life at Laburnum Villa hard enough in all conscience

before the night of the concert, but it became still harder after Mr.

Joseph's condescending avowal of love to her and her inevitably

scornful refusal. She avoided him as much as possible, but she was

forced to meet him at the family breakfast, a meal of a cold and dismal

character, generally partaken of by the amiable family in a morose and

gloomy silence or to an accompaniment of irritable and nagging personal

criticism. Mr. Heron, who suffered from indigestion, was always at his

worst at breakfast time; Mrs. Heron invariably appeared meaner and more

lachrymose; Isabel more irritable and dissatisfied; and Joseph, whose

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bloodshot eyes and swollen lips testified to the arduous character of

his "late work at the office," went through the pretence of a meal with

a sullen doggedness which evinced itself by something like a snarl if

any one addressed him.

Hitherto he had, of course, been particularly, not to say unpleasantly,

civil to Ida, but after his repulse his manner became marked by a

covert insolence which was intended to remind her of her dependent

position, and the fact that her most direct means of escape from it was

by accepting him as her lover. This manner of his, offensive as it was

intended to be, Ida could have borne with more or less equanimity; for

to her, alas! Joseph Heron seemed of very little more account then one

of the tradesmen's boys she saw occasionally coming up to the house;

but after treating her to it for a day or two in the hope of breaking

her spirit, as he would have expressed it, his manner changed to one of

insinuating familiarity. He addressed her in a low voice, almost a

whisper, so that his sister and mother could not hear, and he smiled

and nodded at her in a would-be mysterious manner, as if they were

sharing some secret.

Though Ida did not know it, it was meant to rouse Mrs. Heron's

suspicions; and it succeeded admirably. Her thin, narrow face would

flush angrily and she would look across at Isabel significantly, and

Isabel would snigger and toss her head, as if she quite understood.

Ida often went to here own room before Mr. Joseph returned at night,

but sometimes he came in before she had gone; and he made a practice of

sitting near her, even venturing on occasions to lean over the back of

her chair, his mother watching him out of the corners of her eyes, and

with her thin lips drawn down; and although Ida invariably got up and

went to another part of the room, her avoidance of Joseph did not lull

his mother's suspicions. Ida's contempt for the young man was too

profound to permit of such a sentiment as hatred--one can scarcely hate

that which one scorns--but whenever he came near her with his tobacco

and spirit-laden breath, she was conscious of an inward shudder which

closely resembled that with which she passed through the reptile house

at the Zoological Gardens.




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