"
"Then it is not Arthur Leighton, and that is the reason you refused
him, too?" Mr. Hastings said, involuntarily, and Anna looked quickly
up, her cheeks growing paler than they were before, as she replied:
"I don't know what you mean. I never refused Mr. Leighton--never."
"You never refused Mr. Leighton?" Thornton exclaimed, forgetting all
discretion in his surprise at this flat contradiction. "I have
Arthur's word for it, written to me last June, while Mrs. Meredith was
there, I think."
"He surely could not have meant it, because it never occurred. Once, I
was foolish enough to think he was going to, but he did not. There is
some great mistake," Anna found strength to say, and then she lay back
in her easy-chair panting for breath, her brain all in a whirl as she
thought of the possibility that she was once so near the greatest
happiness she had ever desired, and which was now lost to her forever.
He brought her smelling salts, he gave her ice-water to drink, and
then, kneeling beside her, he fanned her gently, while he said: "There
surely is a mistake, and, I fear, a great wrong, too, somewhere. Were
all your servants trusty? Was there no one who would withhold a letter
if he had written? Were you always at home when he called?" Thornton
questioned her rapidly, for there was a suspicion in his mind as to
the real culprit; but he would not hint it to Anna unless she
suggested it herself.
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