No sounds of revelry greeted him as he entered. A blazing fire was
burning in the hall, but no one was there to enjoy the warmth. The gay
crowd that had clustered before the great hearth only yesterday had all
dispersed. The place was empty.
"Can I get you anything, sir?" enquired the man who admitted him.
His voice was sepulchral. Scott smiled a little. "Yes, please. A whisky
and soda. Where is everybody?"
"The Colonel and Miss Rose went out riding, sir, after the guests had all
gone, and they have not yet returned. Her ladyship is resting in her
room."
"Everyone gone but me?" questioned Scott, with a whimsical lift of the
eyebrows.
The man bent his head decorously. "I believe so, sir. There was a general
feeling that it would be more fitting as the marriage was not to take
place as arranged. I understand, sir, that the family will shortly
migrate to town."
"Really?" said Scott.
He bent over the fire, for the evening was chilly, and he was tired to
the soul. The man coughed and withdrew. Again the silence fell.
A face he knew began to look up at Scott out of the leaping
flames--a face that was laughing and provocative one moment, wistful
and tear-stained the next.
He heaved a sigh as he followed the fleeting vision. "Will she ever be
happy again?" he asked himself.
The last sight he had had of her had cut him to the heart. She had
conquered her tears at last, but her smile was the saddest thing he had
ever seen.
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