"An' pity 'tis, 'tis true," added Stanton, with a shrug.
"I can't think it is only affection that has made her appear ill
the last two or three days," resumed Van Berg, musingly. "Her face
suggests trouble and suffering of some kind."
"Touch of dyspepsia, like enough. However, Sibley will be here in
a few minutes and he will cheer her up, never fear. I'm disgusted
with her that she takes so to that fellow; for although no saint
myself, I can't stomach him."
At the mention of Sibley's name, Van Berg frowned, turned on his
heel and walked away.
"If Stanton is right about that fellow's power over her," he muttered,
"I'll tear up the sketch I made this afternoon and never give her
another thought."
The moment Ida became conscious of Van Berg's observant eyes her
languor passed away. She had scarcely glanced at him while at
dinner, but she had felt, by some subtle power of perception, that
he was furtively watching her, and she also felt there was more
of curiosity than kindliness in his regard. With an instinct as
strong as that of self-preservation, she sought to hide her secret,
and when a few moments later the stage was driven to the door,
she was prepared to welcome the man she now detested, in order to
conceal her heart from the man she loved.
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