“Oh, I was not in earnest,” said Constance; “it was only a little jest. I must look too sincere for anything, for people are always taking my little jokes as if I meant them, every word.” She raised her eyes to Captain Gaunt as she spoke, and with one steady look made an end in a moment of all the hasty hopes that had sprung up again in less time than Jonah’s gourd. She put the parcel in his charge, and shook hands with him, taking no notice of his sudden change of countenance,--and not only this, but waited a little way off till the poor young fellow had got into the train, and had been taken farewell of by his parents. Then she waved her hand and a little film of a pocket-handkerchief, and waited till the old pair came out, Mrs Gaunt with very red eyes, and even the General blowing his nose unnecessarily. “It seems only the other day that we came down to meet him--after not seeing him for so many years.” “Oh, my poor boy! But I should not mind if I thought he had got any good out of his holiday,” said Mrs Gaunt, launching a burning look among her tears at the siren. “Oh, I think he has enjoyed himself, Mrs Gaunt. I am sure you need not have any burden on your mind on that account,” the young deceiver said smoothly. Yes, he had enjoyed himself, and now had to pay the price of it in disappointment and ineffectual misery. This was all it had brought him, this brief intoxicating dream, this fool’s paradise. Constance walked with them as far as their way lay together, and “talked very nicely,” as he said afterwards, to the General; but Mrs Gaunt, if she could have done it with a wish, would have willingly pitched this siren, where other sirens belong to--into the sea. CHAPTER XXXIX.