I went with John to Mrs. Long’s almost immediately after tea.  He accepted the proposal with unconcealed delight; and I wondered if Ellen observed the very nonchalant way in which he replied when she said she did not feel well enough to go.  He already liked better to see Mrs. Long without his wife’s presence, cordial and unembarrassed as her manner always was.  His secret consciousness was always disturbed by it.

When we reached Mrs. Long’s house, we learned that she had gone out to dinner.  John’s face became black with the sudden disappointment, and quite forgetting himself, he exclaimed:  “Why, what does that mean?  She did not tell me she was going.”

The servant stared, but made no reply.  I was confused and indignant; but John went on:  “We will come in and wait.  I am sure it is some very informal dinner, and Mrs. Long will soon be at home.”

I made no remonstrance, knowing that it might annoy and disturb Ellen to have us return.  John threw himself into a chair in front of the fire, and looked moodily into the coals, making no attempt at conversation.  I took up a book.  Very soon John rose, sauntered abstractedly about the room, took up Mrs. Long’s work-basket, and examined every article in it, and at last sat down before her little writing-desk, which stood open.  Presently I saw that he was writing.  More than an hour passed.  I pretended to read; but I watched my brother-in-law’s face.  I could not mistake its language.  Suddenly there came a low cry of delight from the door, “Why, John!”

Mrs. Long had entered the house by a side door, and having met no servant before reaching the drawing-room, was unprepared for finding any one there.  From the door she could see John, but could not see me, except in the long mirror, to which she did not raise her eyes, but in which I saw her swift movement, her outstretched hands, her look of unspeakable gladness.  In less than a second, however, she had seen me, and with no perceptible change of manner had come rapidly towards me, holding out her left hand familiarly to him, as she passed him.  Emma Long was not a hypocrite at heart, but she had an almost superhuman power of acting.  It was all lost upon me, however, on that occasion.  I observed the quick motion with which John thrust into a compartment of the desk, the sheet on which he had been writing; I observed the clasp of their hands as she glided by him; I observed her face; I observed his; and I knew as I had never fully known before how intensely they loved each other.

My resolution was taken.  Cost what it might, come what might, I would speak fully and frankly to my sister the next day.  I would not longer stand by and see this thing go on.  At that moment I hated both John Gray and Emma Long.  No possible pain to Ellen seemed to me to weigh for a moment against my impulse to part them.