My hand dropped from the curtain. But don't suppose--oh, don't
suppose--that the dreadful embarrassment of my situation was the
uppermost idea in my mind! So fervent still was the sisterly interest I
felt in Mr. Godfrey, that I never stopped to ask myself why he was
not at the concert. No! I thought only of the words--the startling
words--which had just fallen from his lips. He would do it to-day. He
had said, in a tone of terrible resolution, he would do it to-day. What,
oh what, would he do? Something even more deplorably unworthy of him
than what he had done already? Would he apostatise from the faith? Would
he abandon us at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes? Had we seen the last of
his angelic smile in the committee-room? Had we heard the last of his
unrivalled eloquence at Exeter Hall? I was so wrought up by the bare
idea of such awful eventualities as these in connection with such a man,
that I believe I should have rushed from my place of concealment, and
implored him in the name of all the Ladies' Committees in London to
explain himself--when I suddenly heard another voice in the room.
It penetrated through the curtains; it was loud, it was bold, it was
wanting in every female charm. The voice of Rachel Verinder.
"Why have you come up here, Godfrey?" she asked. "Why didn't you go into
the library?"
He laughed softly, and answered, "Miss Clack is in the library."
"Clack in the library!" She instantly seated herself on the ottoman in
the back drawing-room. "You are quite right, Godfrey. We had much better
stop here."
I had been in a burning fever, a moment since, and in some doubt what
to do next. I became extremely cold now, and felt no doubt whatever. To
show myself, after what I had heard, was impossible. To retreat--except
into the fireplace--was equally out of the question. A martyrdom was
before me. In justice to myself, I noiselessly arranged the curtains so
that I could both see and hear. And then I met my martyrdom, with the
spirit of a primitive Christian.
"Don't sit on the ottoman," the young lady proceeded. "Bring a chair,
Godfrey. I like people to be opposite to me when I talk to them."
He took the nearest seat. It was a low chair. He was very tall, and
many sizes too large for it. I never saw his legs to such disadvantage
before.
"Well?" she went on. "What did you say to them?"
"Just what you said, dear Rachel, to me."
"That mamma was not at all well to-day? And that I didn't quite like
leaving her to go to the concert?"
"Those were the words. They were grieved to lose you at the concert, but
they quite understood. All sent their love; and all expressed a cheering
belief that Lady Verinder's indisposition would soon pass away."