Evan Meredith noticed it too, and reproached himself bitterly more
than once that he should ever so unworthily have distrusted the man who
had been brought up in Paris and Vienna. One day, however, Harry had ridden from Stoke to Hereford, for the
exercise alone, and Edie expected him back to dinner. But at half-past
seven, just as the gong in the hall was burrr-ing loudly, a telegram
arrived once more for Mrs. Lewin, which Edie tore open with trembling
fingers. It was almost exactly the same mystifying message over again,
only this time it was sent by Harry himself, not by an unknown
hotel-keeping deputy. "I have been suddenly detained here by unexpected
business. Do not expect me home before to-morrow. Shall return as early
as possible. God bless you!" Those last words, so singular in a telegram, roused and accentuated all
Edie's womanly terrors. "God bless you!" --what on earth could Harry mean
by that solemn adjuration under such strange and mysterious
circumstances? There was something very serious the matter, Edie felt
sure; but what it could be she could not even picture to herself. Her
instinctive fears did not take that vulgarly mistrustful form that they
might have taken with many a woman of lower and more suspicious nature;
she knew and trusted Harry far too well for that; she was too absolutely
certain of his whole unshaken love and tenderness; but the very
vagueness and indefiniteness of the fears she felt made them all the
harder and more terrible to bear. When you don't know what it is you
dread, your fancy can dress up its terrors afresh every moment in some
still more painful and distressing disguise. If Harry had let her know where he was stopping, she would have ordered
the carriage then and there, and driven over to Hereford, not to spy him
out, but to be with him in his trouble or difficulty. That, however, was
clearly impossible, for Harry had merely sent his telegram as from "H.
Lewin, Hereford;" and to go about from hotel to hotel through the county
town, inquiring whether her husband was staying there, would of course
have been open to the most ridiculous misinterpretation. Everybody would
have said she was indeed keeping a tight hand upon him! So with many
bitter tears brushed hastily away, Edie went down in solemn and solitary
state to dinner, hating herself for crying so foolishly, and burning hot
with the unpleasant consciousness that the butler and footman were
closely observing her face and demeanour. If she could have dined quite
alone in her own boudoir very furtively it wouldn't have been quite so
dreadful; but to keep up appearances with a sinking heart before those
two eminently respectable and officious men-servants--it was really
enough to choke one. That night again Edie Lewin never slept for more than a few troubled
minutes together; and whenever she awoke, it was with a start and a
scream, and a vague consciousness of some impending evil. When Harry came again next day he didn't laugh it off carelessly and
lightly; he didn't soothe her fears and uneasiness with ready kisses and
prompt excuses; he didn't get angry with her and tell her not to ask
him too many questions about his own business: he met her as gravely and
earnestly as before, with the same tender, loving, half self-reproachful
tone, and yet with the same evident desire and intention to love and
cherish her more fondly than ever. Edie was relieved, but she was by no
means satisfied. She knew Harry loved her tenderly, devotedly; but she
knew also there was some sort of shadow or secret looming ominously
between them. Another wife, supposed dead? He would have trusted her and told her. Another love? Oh, no: she could trust him; it was impossible. And so the weeks wore away, and Edie wondered all to no purpose. At
last, by dint of constant wondering, she almost wore out the faculty of
wonder, and half ceased to think about it any longer. But she noticed that from day to day the old bright, brilliant Irish
character was slowly fading out of Harry's nature, and that in its place
there was growing up a settled, noble, not unbecoming earnestness. He
seemed perhaps a trifle less striking and attractive than formerly, but
a great deal worthier of any true woman's enduring love and admiration. Evan Meredith noticed the change as well. He and Harry had grown now
into real friends. Harry saw and recognized the genuine depth of Evan's
nature. Evan had made amends and apologies to Harry for a single passing
rudeness or two. Both liked the other better for the momentary rivalry
and for the way he had soon forgotten it. "He's a good fellow," Evan
said to his father often, "and Edie, with her quiet, simple English
nature, has made quite another man of him--given him the ballast and the
even steadiness he once wanted." V.

Spring came, and then summer; and with summer, the annual visitation of
garden parties. The Trenches at Malbury Manor were going to give a
garden party, and Harry and Edie drove across to it. Edie took her
husband over in the pony-carriage with the two little greys she loved so
well to drive herself: the very prettiest and best-matched ponies,
everybody said, in the whole county of Hereford. As they walked about on the lawn together, they met Edie's father and
mother. Somehow, Edie happened to fasten herself accidentally upon her
mother, while Harry strolled away alone, and stood talking with
something of his old brilliancy to one group or another of loungers
independently. For awhile, Edie missed him; he had gone off to look at
the conservatories or something. Then, she saw him chatting with Canon
Wilmington and his daughters over by one of the refreshment tables, and
handing them champagne cup and ices, while he talked with unusual
volubility and laughter. Presently he came up to her again, and to her
great surprise said, with a yawn, "Edie, this is getting dreadfully
slow. I can't stand it any longer. I think I shall just slip away
quietly and walk home; you can come after me whenever you like with the
ponies! Good-bye till dinner. God bless you, darling!" It wasn't a usual form of address with him, and Edie vaguely noted it in
passing, but thought nothing more about the matter after the first
moment. "Good-bye, Harry," she said laughingly. "Perhaps Evan will see
me home. Good-bye." Harry smiled rather sadly. "Evan has ridden over on one of my cobs," he
answered quietly, "and so I suppose he'll have to ride back again." "He's the best fellow that ever lived," Evan said, as Harry turned away
with a friendly nod. "Upon my word, I'm quite ashamed of the use I make
of your husband's stables, Edie." "Nonsense, Evan; we're always both delighted when you will use anything
of ours as if it were your own." At six o'clock the ponies were stopping the way, and Edie prepared to
drive home alone. She took the bye-road at the back of the grounds in
preference to the turnpike, because it wouldn't be so crowded or so
dusty for her to drive upon.