Hastily pushing open the library door, which stood ajar, I saw Paul with
his back to me, at the end of the room, looking into the conservatory.
He had evidently just entered from the garden. "Janet," he called, in a
voice the import of which there could be no mistaking; and with a rush,
I heard several pots crash; Janet, who had no doubt happened to have her
head turned the other way, sprang into view, and threw herself into his
arms.
I quietly withdrew, and went away very, very happy. I knew Paul had a
promise of a first-rate appointment abroad, by-and-by; and supposing I
should hear more of this before long, I went placidly away home to the
far north. Instead of that, in six months or so, Janet wrote announcing
her engagement to the Honourable Stephen Vandeleur.
Of course I went south for Janet's wedding.
If I had thought she was being forced into this marriage (Duncan was
snob enough) I should not have gone a step, but should have done my best
to prevent it; but I could not think that from the tone of the letter;
and Paul wrote as well all about it. I could but think I had been
mistaken; that there had been no serious engagement between them, but
only a flirtation, as they might call it, or something of that sort: a
very reprehensible flirtation, with my Puritanical notions, it seemed to
me. I need not say I was greatly disappointed.
So in due course south I went.
Paul met me--handsomer and more dictatorial than ever; his blue eyes
clear and piercing as before.
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