His words now, we say, satisfied her at the moment; but afterwards, in absence, they were recalled, in spite of herself,--in the midst of fears, shapeless and undefined.

Involuntarily she began to examine the countenance, the movements, of her sister,--to court Susan's society more than she had done; for her previous indifference had now deepened into bitterness.
Susan, the neglected and despised, had become her equal,--nay, more than her equal: Susan's children would have precedence to her own in the heritage of Laughton! Hitherto she had never deigned to talk to her in the sweet familiarity of sisters so placed; never deigned to confide to her those feelings for her future husband which burned lone and ardent in the close vault of her guarded heart.

Now, however, she began to name him, wind her arm into Susan's, talk of love and home, and the days to come; and as she spoke, she read the workings of her sister's face.
That part of the secret grew clear almost at the first glance.

Susan loved,--loved William Mainwaring; but was it not a love hopeless and unreturned?
Might not this be the cause that had made Mainwaring so reserved?
He might have seen, or conjectured, a conquest he had not sought; and hence, with manly delicacy, he had avoided naming Susan to Lucretia; and now, perhaps, sought the excuses which at times had chafed and wounded her for not joining the household circle.

If one of those who glance over these pages chances to be a person more than usually able and acute,--a person who has loved and been deceived,--he or she, no matter which, will perhaps recall those first moments when the doubt, long put off, insisted to be heard.