were in America."
In spite of the gracious response of the ladies, Randolph was aware
of their critical scrutiny of both himself and Miss Eversleigh, of
the exchange of significant glances, and a certain stiffness in
her guardian's manner. It was quite enough to affect Randolph's
sensitiveness and bring out his own reserve.
Fancying, however, that his reticence disturbed Miss Eversleigh, he
forced himself to converse with Lady Ashbrook--avoiding many of her
pointed queries as to himself, his acquaintance with Sibyl, and the
length of time he expected to stay in England--and even accompanied her
to her carriage. And here he was rewarded by Sibyl running out with a
crape veil twisted round her throat and head, and the usual femininely
forgotten final message to her visitor. As the carriage drove away, she
turned to Randolph, and said quickly,--
"Let us go in by way of the garden."
It was a slight detour, but it gave them a few moments alone.
"It was so awful and sudden," she said, looking gravely at Randolph,
"and to think that only an hour before I had been saying unkind things
of him! Of course," she added naively, "they were true, and the groom
admitted to me that the mare was overdriven and Sir William could
hardly stand. And only to think of it! he never recovered complete
consciousness, but muttered incoherently all the time. I was with him to
the last, and he never said a word I could understand--only once."
"What did he say?" asked Randolph uneasily.
"I don't like to say--it was TOO dreadful!"
Randolph did not press her. Yet, after a pause, she said in a low voice,
with a naivete impossible to describe, "It was, 'Jack, damn you!'"
He did not dare to look at her, even with this grim mingling of farce
and tragedy which seemed to invest every scene of that sordid drama.
Miss Eversleigh continued gravely: "The groom's name was Robert, but
Jack might have been the name of one of his boon companions."
Convinced that she suspected nothing, yet in the hope of changing the
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