The New Magdalen

With downcast eyes he placed a chair for her. With downcast eyes she

bowed to him and took it. A dead silence followed. Never was any human

misunderstanding more intricately complete than the misunderstanding

which had now established itself between those two.

Mercy's work-basket was near her. She took it, and gained time for

composing herself by pretending to arrange the colored wools. He stood

behind her chair, looking at the graceful turn of her head, looking at

the rich masses of her hair. He reviled himself as the weakest of men,

as the falsest of friends, for still remaining near her--and yet he

remained.

The silence continued. The billiard-room door opened again noiselessly.

The face of the listening woman appeared stealthily behind it.

At the same moment Mercy roused herself and spoke: "Won't you sit down?"

she said, softly, still not looking round at him, still busy with her

basket of wools.

He turned to get a chair--turned so quickly that he saw the

billiard-room door move, as Grace Roseberry closed it again.

"Is there any one in that room?" he asked, addressing Mercy.

"I don't know," she answered. "I thought I saw the door open and shut

again a little while ago."

He advanced at once to look into the room. As he did so Mercy dropped

one of her balls of wool. He stopped to pick it up for her--then threw

open the door and looked into the billiard-room. It was empty.

Had some person been listening, and had that person retreated in time

to escape discovery? The open door of the smoking-room showed that room

also to be empty. A third door was open--the door of the side hall,

leading into the grounds. Julian closed and locked it, and returned to

the dining-room.

"I can only suppose," he said to Mercy, "that the billiard-room door was

not properly shut, and that the draught of air from the hall must have

moved it."

She accepted the explanation in silence. He was, to all appearance, not

quite satisfied with it himself. For a moment or two he looked about him

uneasily. Then the old fascination fastened its hold on him again. Once

more he looked at the graceful turn of her head, at the rich masses of

her hair. The courage to put the critical question to him, now that

she had lured him into remaining in the room, was still a courage that

failed her. She remained as busy as ever with her work--too busy to look

at him; too busy to speak to him. The silence became unendurable. He

broke it by making a commonplace inquiry after her health. "I am well

enough to be ashamed of the anxiety I have caused and the trouble I have

given," she answered. "To-day I have got downstairs for the first

time. I am trying to do a little work." She looked into the basket. The

various specimens of wool in it were partly in balls and partly in loose

skeins. The skeins were mixed and tangled. "Here is sad confusion!"

she exclaimed, timidly, with a faint smile. "How am I to set it right

again?"