Sir Eustace did not
mean to be kept waiting, and he would deliver her finally and for all
time.
She did not know exactly why her mother was angry. She supposed she
resented the idea of losing her slave. There seemed no other possible
reason, for love for her she had none. Dinah knew but too cruelly well
that she had been naught but an unwelcome burden from the very earliest
days of her existence. Till she met Isabel, she had never known what real
mother-love could be.
She wondered if her _fiance_ would notice the red mark on her cheek when
she carried in the teapot; but he was holding a careless conversation
with her father, and only gave her a glance and a smile.
During the meal that followed he scarcely addressed her or so much as
looked her way. He treated her mother with a freezing aloofness that made
her tremble inwardly. She wondered how he dared.
When at length he rose to go, however, his attention returned to Dinah.
He laid a dominating hand upon her shoulder. "Are you coming to see me
off?"
She glanced at her mother in involuntary appeal, but failed to catch her
eye. Silently she turned to the door.
He took leave of her parents with the indifference of one accustomed to
popularity. "I shall be round in the morning," he said to her father.
"About twelve? That'll suit me very well; unless I wait till the
afternoon and bring my sister.
Pages:
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312