Beyond the Rocks

And so they talked awhile, and then they looked up and surveyed the

scene. Josiah had been joined by Sir Patrick, and they were earnestly

conversing by the fireplace. One or two pairs sat about on the sofas;

but the general company showed signs of flocking off to the

bridge-tables, which were laid out in another drawing-room beyond. And

the couples joined them gradually, until only Lord Wensleydown and

Morella Winmarleigh remained near and watched them with mocking eyes.

Hector had never before realized that Morella could have so much

expression in her face.

How could he ever have thought under any conceivable circumstances, even

at the end of his life, it would be possible to marry her! How thankful

he felt he had never paid her any attention, or from his behavior given

color to his mother's hopes.

He remembered a fairy story he had read in his youth, where a magic

power was given to the hero of discovering what beast each human being

was growing into by grasping their hands. And he wondered, if the gift

had been his, what he should now find was the destiny of those two in

front of him!

Wensleydown, no doubt, would be a great, sensual goat and Morella a

vicious mule. And the idea made him laugh as he turned to Theodora

again, to feast his eyes on her pure loveliness.

The Crow, who had arrived late and been among the last to enter the

drawing-room before dinner, had not yet had an opportunity of speaking

to Mrs. Brown, as he had been dragged off among the first of the

bridge-players.

Presently Mildred looked through the door from the room beyond and

called: "Freddy and Morella, come and play; we must have two more to

make up the numbers. Uncle Patrick will bring Lord Bracondale

presently."

Josiah and Theodora did not count at all, it seemed!

"What intolerable insolence!" said Hector, through his teeth. "I shall

not play bridge or stir from here."

And Lord Wensleydown called back: "Do give one a moment to digest one's

dinner, dear Lady Mildred. Miss Winmarleigh does not want to come yet,

either. We are very--interested--and happy here."

Morella tittered and played with her fan. The dull, slow rage was

simmering within her. Even her vanity could not misinterpret the meaning

of Hector's devotion to Mrs. Brown. He was deeply in love, of course,

and she, Morella, was robbed of her hopes of being Lady Bracondale. Her

usually phlegmatic nature was roused in all its narrow strength. She was

like some silent, vengeful beast waiting a chance to spring.