University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.
THE CROSS-EXAMINATION.

The feeble youth had just departed, overjoyed at the success of
his plan to revenge himself upon Evelyn for her discardal of him,
when the young lady, who had thrown herself upon a lounge in
her chamber and buried her face in the pillow, heard the noise of
horses' hoofs on the ground below.

The angelic portion of humanity are rarely so completely prostrated
by any emotion as to lose their curiosity. Let the apparently
cynical but really sportive maxim be pardoned. Evelyn rose, went
to the window, looked out, and saw, in the twilight, the figure of
St. Leger, who, having dismounted, walked up the steps.

A slight, short breath, like a sigh, came from her lips. Had he
come to renew his hopeless and now annoying addresses? Evelyn
shrunk with utter distaste from the prospect of going through such
an interview on this evening. Her heart felt cold, and a dull, apathetic
mood possessed her. What could she say to Mr. St. Leger?
Why had he chosen this of all moments to come to Blandfield?

Should she send word that she was unwell? Headaches are convenient,
and cannot be found fault with. Should she have a headache?
Yes—and Evelyn dragged her feet toward the lounge. Suddently
she stopped. Her eyes were fixed intently upon the inoffensive
toilet-table, as though to stare out of countenance that useful
piece of furniture. A slight color came to her cheeks. She went
quickly to the mirror, proceeded rapidly to arrange her disordered
hair; affixed a blue riband and a string of pearls to her curls;
changed her dress, and went down stairs, where St. Leger was seated
in the hall, talking with the smiling and benevolent Judge Bland.

As Evelyn came down the steps, with a slight air of constraint
which—habituated as she was to meeting unlucky youths after private
interviews with herself—she could not suppress, St. Leger rose,
made her a bow, smiled, and shook hands with her in the friendliest
and most unconcerned manner—looking straight into her eyes as
he did so. Evelyn never ceased, afterward, to be grateful for this
proceeding, and declared that Mr. St. Leger had more savoir faire
than any one she knew!

“A pleasant evening for a ride, Mr. St. Leger.”

“Quite delightful!”

And that excellent, judicious St. Leger did not offer to walk out,
or even proceed to the drawing-room, but sat down quietly, with
Judge Bland present, politely drawing up an arm-chair, as he did
so, for the young lady. He had evidently come to make a mere
“friendly” visit, and conduct his conversation with Evelyn in sight
and hearing of everybody.

For some reason, best known to herself, this state of things did
not seem to please Miss Evelyn. She played with the tassel of her
girdle, tapped the point of her slipper upon the floor, and at
length, in the middle of one of her father's sentences addressed
to St. Leger, rose quietly, strolled out upon the porch, began to
train the tendrils of a Madeira vine around the lattice-work, and—
waited.

This proceeding resulted a few moments afterward in the appearance
of St. Leger on the portico, but it was soon apparent that he
had no intention of renewing the discussion of a certain subject, for
he laughed, and had recourse again to the weather. In a moment
all embarrassment had disappeared, and they were talking like old
friends, and nothing more.

“I shall return to Europe next week,” he said, “and I am afraid
this must be my last visit.”

“Return to Europe! So soon?”

“I really must.”

“I am very, very sorry!”

St. Leger smiled, and replied:

“Do you know I was certain of that? Vain, you see! But I shall
regret it more than you can.”

“I do not know. I shall regret it a great deal.”

“I am flattered—no, I am delighted!” laughed St. Leger; “and
Harley has looked so depressed since I announced my intention,
that I begin to think he too will mourn over my departure.”

“I am very sure he will; his house is so large and so lonely.
There is no other person in his family, I think. What a singular
person Mr. Harley is!”

Evelyn was approaching the subject so carefully that St. Leger
did not for a moment perceive it.

“Well,” he said, “Harley is not what I should call a singular person,
precisely. I should rather employ the word original. I know
him thoroughly, and he is the best fellow I know.”

“I shall not discuss the character of your friend. You know him
much better, of course, than I can possibly, but—”

Evelyn played with the tassel at her waist. Her voice shook a
little.

“You do not finish your sentence,” said St. Leger.

“I meant to say that Mr. Harley has the reputation of being a
“woman-hater, and yet—”

She stopped again. He looked at her attentively.

“Shall I speak plainly?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Harley is said to be married.”

The word was uttered at last. It cost the young lady an effort,
but she uttered it. A strange calmness had replaced her nervous
tremor—the resolution to know.

“So that report has reached you too?” said St. Leger, thoughtfully.

“Yes. Is there any truth in it? One likes to know, of course,
whether one's friends are married or single. And if you can tell
me, without a breach of confidence, please gratify my curiosity.”

St. Leger looked grave.

“I am wholly unable to do so, Miss Evelyn,” he said. “Harley
is not a confiding person, and has never spoken to me in reference
to his past life.”

“That is certainly singular.”

“I have often thought so, and attempted to draw him out. But
he has remained obstinately silent.”

The nervous tremor again passed through Evelyn's frame. She
suppressed it, and said, easily,

“You have then been unable even to form any opinion upon this
interesting subject?”

“An opinion? None whatever!”

“And have not even had your suspicions excited?”

St. Leger was being pressed closely, and yet the tone of the young
lady was so negligent and natural that he only felt a vague suspicion
of her object. He was silent for a single instant, and then replied:

“You are a friend of Harley's, Miss Evelyn. You could not allow
anything to persuade you that there is a discreditable mystery in
his life?”

“Nothing could make me believe that!”

“I shall say, then, frankly, that once or twice it has occurred to
me that possibly Justin Harley might have contracted, early in his
life, an undesirable marriage, which circumstances prevented him
from making public—one which perhaps he would like still to preserve
a secret. There need not be anything discreditable in that.”

Evelyn did not reply.

“Observe,” said St. Leger, “that this is a mere theory—scarcely
a conjecture.”

“Then you have observed nothing?”

“Do not let us speak further of this, I pray you, Miss Evelyn.”

“Certainly I shall not do so,” said the young lady, quietly. “I
have been induced to speak of Mr. Harley only in consequence of
some strange reports repeated this evening by a visitor.”

“Reports! Pray explain.”

She repeated the gossip of the feeble youth, and St. Leger listened
with grave attention.

“It is probable,” Evelyn added, “that there is no such strolling
company, and no such person—that the whole is a falsehood.”

St. Leger knit his brows.

“Mr. Harley, it is said, was returning at the time from Williamsburg,
and—why! you accompanied him, did you not, Mr. St.
Leger?”

“Yes,” said St. Leger, finding concealment useless.

“And the strollers?”

“We encountered such a company.”

“And the woman?”

“There was a woman.”

“Who seemed to recognize Mr. Harley?”

St. Leger found himself twisted in the net so skilfully thrown.
Not to be able to deny, was to assert.

“There was some such scene as you represent,” he said, guardedly,—“a
mere apparent acquaintance—an unexpected meeting.
I cannot further speak upon a subject involving a discussion, perhaps,
that would be displeasing to my friend. Let us therefore
amuse ourselves with some other topic, Miss Evelyn, and—”

The tea-bell rang. St. Leger quickly offered his arm. Evelyn
just touched it with her hand. She dared not approach nearer, for
fear he should observe the beating of her heart; and they went in
to tea.

After tea, the subject was not renewed, and St. Leger's visit ended
about nine o'clock. He took his leave. promising not to leave Virginia
without calling again at Blandfield, and having seen him disappear,
Evelyn quietly glided up-stairs. There was a light in her
room. She took it, and went to the mirror, holding it up, and looking
at her face.

“I did not know I was so pale,” she said, in a low voice. “I
wonder if he observed it?”