The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [1511]
They passed the afternoon together uninterruptedly in the distant solitudes of the park. In the course of conversation Emily found an opportunity of discreetly alluding to Mirabel. "You mustn't be jealous of our clever little friend," she said; "I like him, and admire him; but--"
"But you don't love him?"
She smiled at the eager way in which Alban put the question.
"There is no fear of that," she answered brightly.
"Not even if you discovered that he loves you?"
"Not even then. Are you content at last? Promise me not to be rude to Mr. Mirabel again."
"For his sake?"
"No--for my sake. I don't like to see you place yourself at a disadvantage toward another man; I don't like you to disappoint me."
The happiness of hearing her say those words transfigured him--the manly beauty of his earlier and happier years seemed to have returned to Alban. He took her hand--he was too agitated to speak.
"You are forgetting Mr. Mirabel," she reminded him gently.
"I will be all that is civil and kind to Mr. Mirabel; I will like him and admire him as you do. Oh, Emily, are you a little, only a very little, fond of me?"
"I don't quite know."
"May I try to find out?"
"How?" she asked.
Her fair cheek was very near to him. The softly-rising color on it said, Answer me here--and he answered.
CHAPTER XLV.
MISCHIEF--MAKING.
On Monday, Mirabel made his appearance--and the demon of discord returned with him.
Alban had employed the earlier part of the day in making a sketch in the park--intended as a little present for Emily. Presenting himself in the drawing-room, when his work was completed, he found Cecilia and Francine alone. He asked where Emily was.
The question had been addressed to Cecilia. Francine answered it.
"Emily mustn't be disturbed," she said.
"Why not?"
"She is with Mr. Mirabel in the rose garden. I saw them talking together--evidently feeling the deepest interest in what they were saying to each other. Don't interrupt them--you will only be in the way."
Cecilia at once protested against this last assertion. "She is trying to make mischief, Mr. Morris--don't believe her. I am sure they will be glad to see you, if you join them in the garden."
Francine rose, and left the room. She turned, and looked at Alban as she opened the door. "Try it," she said--"and you will find I am right."
"Francine sometimes talks in a very ill-natured way," Cecilia gently remarked. "Do you think she means it, Mr. Morris?'
"I had better not offer an opinion," Alban replied.
"Why?"
"I can't speak impartially; I dislike Miss de Sor."
There was a pause. Alban's sense of self-respect forbade him to try the experiment which Francine had maliciously suggested. His thoughts--less easy to restrain--wandered in the direction of the garden. The attempt to make him jealous had failed; but he was conscious, at the same time, that Emily had disappointed him. After what they had said to each other in the park, she ought to have remembered that women are at the mercy of appearances. If Mirabel had something of importance to say to her, she might have avoided exposing herself to Francine's spiteful misconstruction: it would have been easy to arrange with Cecilia that a third person should be present at the interview.
While he was absorbed in these reflections, Cecilia--embarrassed by the silence--was trying to find a topic of conversation. Alban roughly pushed his sketch-book away from him, on the table. Was he displeased with Emily? The same question had occurred to Cecilia at the time of the correspondence, on the subject of Miss Jethro. To recall those letters led her, by natural sequence, to another effort of memory. She was reminded of the person who had been the cause of the correspondence: her interest was revived in the mystery of Miss Jethro.
"Has Emily told you that I have seen your letter?" she asked.
He roused himself with a start. "I beg your