He would seek out this spoiled child (he said to himself)
and scold her into being good again. And yet, even as he tried to
persuade himself that all would still be well, he could not help
recalling the fierce vehemence with which Nina had repudiated the
suggestion that perhaps she might let some one else drink out of this
hapless loving-cup that now lay before him. "I would rather have it
dashed to pieces and thrown into the sea!" she had said, with pale face
and quivering lips and eyes bordering on tears. He remembered that he
had been a little surprised at the time--not thinking what it all might
mean.
CHAPTER XVII.
A CRISIS.
When he went down to Sloane Street in the morning, he found Estelle
eagerly awaiting him. She received him in Nina's small parlor; Mrs. Grey
had just gone out. A glance round the room did not show him any
difference, except that a row of photographs (of himself, mostly, in
various costumes) had disappeared from the mantelshelf.
"Well, what is all this about?" he said, somewhat abruptly.
"Ah, do not blame me too quick!" Estelle said, with tears springing to
her clear blue eyes. "Perhaps I am to blame--perhaps when I see her in
such trouble on Saturday night, I should entreat her to tell me why; but
I said, 'To-night I will not worry her more; to-morrow morning I will
talk to her; we will go for a long walk together? Nina will tell me all
her sorrow.
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