But she felt that near her fate hovered, like the carrier-pigeon; and
some terrible force within herself, which frightened her, seemed ready
to push away or destroy anything that might come between her and that
fate. She knew that she ought to question Victoria about the past years
of their separation, one side of her nature was eager to hear the story.
But the other side, which had gained strength lately, forced her to
dwell upon less intimate things.
"I suppose Mrs. Ray managed to keep most of poor father's money?" she
said.
"Mrs. Ray died when I was fourteen, and after that Mr. Potter lost
everything in speculation," the girl answered.
"Everything of yours, too?"
"Yes. But it didn't matter, except for the delay. My dancing--_your_
dancing really, dearest, because if it hadn't been for you I shouldn't
have put my heart into it so--earned me all I needed."
"I said you were extraordinary! But how queer it seems to hear those
names again. Mrs. Ray. Mr. Potter. They're like names in a dream. How
wretched I used to think myself, with Mrs. Ray in Paris, when she was so
jealous and cross! But a thousand times since, I've wished myself back
in those days. I was happy, really. I was free. Life was all before me."
"Dearest! But surely you weren't miserable from the very first,
with--with Cassim?"
"No-o. I suppose I wasn't. I was in love with him. It seemed very
interesting to be the wife of such a man.
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