see what you mean, perfectly! but I am not going to marry Mr. Wharton, so don’t trouble to warn me—­for the matter of that he has warned me himself:—­but my gratitude he has earned, and if he asks for it I will never deny it him “—­since that moment there had been no word of Wharton between them.  At the bottom of his heart Hallin distrusted her, and was ashamed of himself because of it.  His soreness and jealousy for his friend knew no bounds.  “If that were to come on again”—­he was saying to himself now, as she talked to him—­“I could not bear it, I could not forgive her!”

He only wished that she would give up talking about Wharton altogether.  But, on the contrary, she would talk of him—­and with a curious persistence.  She must needs know what Hallin thought of his career in Parliament, of his prospects, of his powers as a speaker.  Hallin answered shortly, like some one approached on a subject for which he cares nothing.

“Yet, of course, it is not that; it is injustice!” she said to herself, with vehemence.  “He must care; they are his subjects, his interests too.  But he will not look at it dispassionately, because—­”

So they fell out with each other a little, and the talk dragged.  Yet, all the while, Marcella’s inner mind was conscious of quite different thoughts.  How good it was to be here, in this room, beside these two people!  She must show herself fractious and difficult with Hallin sometimes; it was her nature.  But in reality, that slight and fragile form, that spiritual presence were now shrined in the girl’s eager reverence and affection.  She felt towards him as many a Catholic has felt towards his director; though the hidden yearning to be led by him was often oddly covered, as now, by an outer self-assertion.  Perhaps her quarrel with him was that he would not lead her enough—­would not tell her precisely enough what she was to do with herself.

CHAPTER V.

While she and Hallin were sitting thus, momentarily out of tune with each other, the silence was suddenly broken by a familiar voice.

“I say, Hallin—­is this all right?”

The words came from a young man who, having knocked unheeded, opened the door, and cautiously put in a curly head.

“Frank!—­is that you?  Come in,” cried Hallin, springing up.

Frank Leven came in, and at once perceived the lady sitting in the window.

“Well, I am glad!” he cried, striding across the room and shaking Hallin’s hand by the way.  “Miss Boyce!  I thought none of your friends were ever going to get a sight of you again!  Why, what—­”

He drew back scanning her, a gay look of quizzing surprise on his fair boy’s face.

“He expected me in cap and apron,” said Marcella, laughing; “or means to pretend he did.”

“I expected a sensation!  And here you are, just as you were, only twice as—­I say, Hallin, doesn’t she look well!”—­this in a stage aside to Hallin, while the speaker was drawing off his gloves, and still studying Marcella.