“Just as I thought—just the time Alice got ill and low-spirited. I saw it all along. I was certain that she loved you, and I thought you loved her. I always looked upon it as a settled thing; and, indeed, it is hardly likely your uncle would have gone so far as he did, if he had not been sure Alice's happiness was concerned.”
“And upon your soul and honour, Fred, do you believe she loved me?”
And for once Fred Bingham spoke the truth.
“Poor Alice! poor Alice! and I never dreamt of it, never once. This is worse than the other. To think of my having made her unhappy. No wonder my uncle is so angry, and that it has worked on his brain. What is to be done? I can't write to her and explain matters.”
“I should think not,” Fred Bingham said dryly. “In the first place your letter would be returned, for I know that uncle has made her promise not to communicate with you in any way, and not even to speak if she meets you accidentally. And in the next place Alice Heathcote is hardly the sort of girl to accept condolences from a man who has slighted her affection.”
Frank looked furiously at the speaker, but he felt that the remark was true.
“Well,” he said, at last, “this is a nice thing to meet a man on his return from his honeymoon—the girl he cared for most in the world, next to his wife, made unhappy—my uncle altogether estranged, and in fact carrying the matter to a point of lunacy; and nothing possible to be done.”
“I dare say matters will right themselves in time, Frank. Our uncle talks about travelling, and the change will, no doubt, do him good, and set Alice up; and, seeing that, he will get over his great hallucination.”
“And if he does not,” Frank said, rather bitterly, “I suppose I may wish you joy of being sole inheritor of Wyvern Park?”
“Frank, that is not like you,” Fred said, reproachfully. “I should have thought you would have known me better than to suppose me capable of taking advantage of it, even if Captain Bradshaw did, in his present state, pass you over in his will. No, Frank.”
“I beg your pardon, Fred,” Frank broke in; “upon my word, I beg your pardon. I did not mean what I said for a moment. I know you are the best-hearted fellow in the world, and have always said so. No, no, old man, I have no jealousy of you, I give you my word.” And he shook Fred Bingham's hand warmly. “And now, Fred, I won't ask you to go upstairs to-night. I am really upset, and I must tell Katie about this miserable business, and I suppose she can hardly be expected to see it quite in the right light. Good-night, old fellow! Come again soon.”