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Updated: May 23, 2025
Sometimes she spoke to me of Julian, whom I admitted I knew, and, with feminine courage, she hid her hopeless, all-devouring affection for her cousin under the cloak of ingenuous levity. She laughed nearly every time his name was mentioned. About this time the Gunton-Cresswells gave a dance. I looked forward to it with almost painful pleasure.
He employed that system. It gave him the holiday he asked for. He went into Society. Among his acquaintances were the Gunton-Cresswells, and at their house he met Eva. Whether his determination to treat Eva as he had treated Margaret came to him instantly, or by degrees I do not know. Inwardly he may have had his scheme matured in embryo, but outwardly he was still the accomplished hypocrite.
"I shall then," administering the coup de grace, "arrange a meeting between the Gunton-Cresswells and old Mrs. Goodwin." "Thank you," said James, "but don't bother. On second thoughts I will tell Eva about my income and the five years' wait." "Thanks," I said; "it's very good of you. Good-bye." And I retired, chuckling, to Rupert Street.
"Yes, mister," came back Thomas's voice, again a shade thoughtfully modulated. With my system thus in full swing I experienced the intoxication of assured freedom. To say I was elated does not describe it. I walked on air. This was my state of mind when I determined to pay a visit to the Gunton-Cresswells.
"Where is she now?" "Nearing Guernsey. She's gone." "Gone!" I said. "Without seeing me! I don't understand." "You don't understand how she loves you, James." "But she's gone. Gone without a word." "She has gone because she loved you so. She had intended to stay with the Gunton-Cresswells. She knows them, it seems. They didn't know she was coming. She didn't know herself until this morning.
I cared not a bit for Julian's sneers; for the smell of the flesh-pots of Kensington had laid hold of my soul, and I was resolved to make the most of the respite which my system gave me. "What salon is to have the honour today?" he asked, spreading himself on my sofa. "I'm going to the Gunton-Cresswells," I replied. Julian slowly sat up. "Ah?" he said conversationally.
James took it with an air of restrained amusement. I, seriously. Tentatively, I diverged from this subject towards other and wider fields. Impressions of Guernsey, which drew from him his address, at the St. Peter's Port Hotel. The horrors of the sea passage from Weymouth, which extorted a comment on the limitations of England. England. London. Kensington. South Kensington. The Gunton-Cresswells?
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