In the morning, still horribly uncertain as to how things stood, he
imagined that Mrs. Bracknel’s manner was slightly constrained, and
jumped to the conclusion that she must know something, if not all. It
was Sunday, and he and Denis and Mr. and Mrs. Bracknel were breakfasting
alone. When he had finished he went out into the garden, his mind still
occupied by what had kept him awake half the night. He wondered if he
had really got himself into a most horrible mess, or if he were making
mountains out of mole-hills? He strolled up and down for ten minutes,
inclining now to one point of view now to the other. He saw Denis
throwing sticks for Rex the spaniel, and turned in the opposite
direction, when he perceived May coming towards him from the house and
paused again, uncertain what to do. She herself, Rusk imagined,
hesitated whether to turn back or to come on. In the end she took the
latter course, but there was still nearly the whole length of the lawn
between them, and he had plenty of time to observe her as she slowly
approached. She was rather pale, he thought, but her face before she
reached him was overswept by a bright wave of colour. She smiled and
held out her hand, wishing him good-morning.
They strolled on side by side for a little way, taking the direction
back to the house. Rusk made some casual remark, but she appeared not to
hear him, at any rate she gave him no reply. Suddenly she began to
speak, without turning her head in his direction; “I don’t know whether
I ought to tell you or not, but I think it is perhaps only fair to give
you some idea, some warning....” She ceased as abruptly as she had
begun, and to Rusk, listening with the most distressing forebodings, it
occurred that she might have heard Amy either going to or coming from
his room last night. Only, would she mention it if she had? He remained
silent, waiting anxiously for her to continue, while he felt the blood
burning in his cheeks.
When she began again she spoke rapidly and disjointedly, though quite
plainly enough for him to make out what had happened, to see it all,
indeed, as vividly as if it were actually taking place just then and
there before him. For a single instant he had looked blankly at her, but
afterwards he gazed on straight ahead, while her voice continued to
sound in his ears.
May’s colour had been almost as bright as his own, but it faded before
she reached the end of her tale. They both simultaneously, and, as if at
a given signal, came to an abrupt halt. They were then within a few
yards of the house, and Rusk still did not look at her. All his worst
fears were realized, more than realized.
“Is she with them now?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so.... I must go in.”
“Oh Lord!” he muttered. Then he thanked her for telling him, but left
her to go on to the house alone. When she reached the porch he turned on
his heel and walked rapidly down the drive.
He felt as indignant as he had ever felt in his life, but as the moments
passed his anger became mingled with bewilderment. Amy must be half-mad!
She might at that very moment be inventing all kinds of lies! She seemed
capable of anything! One point was clear at all events--he would have to
leave Mr. Bracknel’s house as soon as possible. He felt a violent
disgust of the whole affair, an overwhelming desire to leave all memory
of it behind him. He had had enough of it--more than enough. They might
work out the problem of his relation to Amy between themselves, and as
was most pleasing to them or to her. _He_ was going home at once; he
would leave Ireland that night. He was so certain of this, so sure that
it was the only thing left for him to do, no matter how his adventure
might turn out, that he decided to go and bid his adieus to the Miss
Birches.
He wanted to talk to somebody, he wanted advice, he wanted to be
understood. He turned back and in a few minutes was at their gate. He
met Miss Birch coming down the garden path on her way to church. Rusk
had forgotten that it was Sunday, but he was relieved to be sure of
finding Miss Anna alone. He learned that this lady had not ventured out,
because of a cold which had kept her indoors for several days, though it
was now almost gone. Rusk lingered for a few minutes longer, talking
very absently, and for the most part in monosyllables, to Miss Birch,
not attempting to explain the reason of his visit. Then he went on to
the house. He found Miss Anna in the parlour. It was a grey November
morning, and the sound of church bells came distinctly across the
surrounding fields. A bright fire was burning in the grate, and before
this fire Miss Anna was seated, writing a letter. She was charmed to see
him, though she must have been surprised. She declared, however, that he
had guessed by some secret and mysterious sympathy that she was all
alone and was not going to church. The young man answered lamely that he
had forgotten for the moment there was such a thing as church to go to;
he had had something particular to tell her, and finding himself not far
from their house, had come in on the spur of the moment; he could not
help coming. He was on the point of beginning the whole history of his
misadventure when it occurred to him that there was positively nothing
he could tell. He could not repeat what had actually taken place, his
tongue was tied: it was impossible for him to say baldly that Amy had
got him into a mess, that she had told lies about it, that she had come
to his room and found Denis there, that she had practically forced him
to chuck up his post. So instead of making his confession he simply fell
back on the bare announcement that he was going home.
Miss Anna looked at him, struck by his appearance, by his manner of
telling his news. It was as if she knew that this was not what he had
really come in to say. “Well, I hope you’ll have a pleasant holiday,”
she answered. “Are you going soon?”
“To-morrow, I’m afraid,” Rusk said gloomily. “I can’t put it off.”
Miss Anna hesitated. “Has anything happened?” she asked. “You will be
coming back in a little?”
Rusk shook his head. “I’m afraid not. In fact I shan’t be coming back at
all. I’m going for good.” He had taken his plunge and Miss Anna stared
in astonishment.
“For good? But isn’t this very sudden? I thought only the other day you
told us you would stay just as long as they wanted you to!”
Rusk coloured. “They don’t want me,” he answered, his eyes on the
carpet. “That’s the difficulty. They’ve had enough of me.”
“But what in the name of goodness has happened? You can’t rush off like
that, you know. Do they _know_ you’re going?”
Rusk smiled feebly. “I’m afraid I’m not so indispensable as you seem to
think. They must know I’m going, if it’s they who are sending me away!”
“Fiddlesticks! sending you away! I don’t understand. You needn’t tell me
that they’ve _asked_ you to go!”
Rusk nodded his head. “I don’t suit them,” he continued. “There’s been
an explanation. It’s better that I should go.”
Miss Anna still seemed hardly to believe him. “It hasn’t, by any chance,
to do with this plan of taking Denis abroad, has it? If so, it is really
my fault.”
“No; it isn’t that. Oh, there are several things.” But his fiction
seemed suddenly to fail him in regard to detail.
“And you’re never coming back?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I’m awfully sorry in many ways. I
shall be very sorry for one thing to leave you and your sister. You’ve
been so kind to me. I shall be very sorry, too, to leave
Denis--especially after having given my promise to your brother to look
after him. But--If I could I would take him home with me for a while;
only I’m afraid that would be impossible. I don’t think they would allow
him to come--his own people, I mean--and at any rate, even if they did,
I shall have to look out for something to do, some sort of post, and it
isn’t likely that I’ll find one at home.”
Miss Anna caught a sudden light in the darkness. “It isn’t that girl, is
it?” she demanded peremptorily. “It has nothing to do with Amy?”
Rusk blushed. “Nothing whatever,” he said almost angrily. “I had a row
with Mr. Bracknel, that is all.”
He rose on this, as if about to take his leave, but his companion still
kept him.
“You’re not to go so soon,” she protested. “You must have lunch first.
The others will want to see you.”
“Thanks very much, but it’s really quite impossible; I can’t stay.”
“You must say good-bye to Herbert at any rate. Of course you’ll see us
for at least a few minutes to-morrow, but he may not be here.” She rang
the bell and despatched a servant with a message to Doctor Birch.
The Doctor made his appearance while Rusk still stood there, holding his
hat and feeling more and more uncomfortable.
“Herbert,” cried Miss Anna, “Mr. Rusk has come to say good-bye. He says
he is going away--probably to-morrow night. I don’t know what to think.
And it all seems to be Mr. Bracknel’s fault.”
Doctor Birch turned inquiringly to the young man. “You’re not taking the
youngster with you, I suppose?”
“I’m afraid not,” Rusk stammered. “I’d be only too glad to, if they’d
let me.”
“And you have to go?”
“Yes; I’m afraid I’ve no choice.”
Doctor Birch said nothing. Rusk stood with bowed head. He appeared to be
studying most carefully the pattern in the carpet. His clear young face
was anxious and troubled. “I _must_ go,” he repeated after a slight
pause. “I can’t help it. You know I’d stay if I could.”
“It’s all Mr. Bracknel’s fault,” said Miss Anna again.
But her brother took no notice of her. He continued to regard the young
man before him, as if considering something which had just come into his
mind. Under the perspicacity of his gaze Rusk’s eyes remained lowered,
like those of a guilty schoolboy. Doctor Birch, however, laid his hand
on his shoulder with a friendly gesture, which had at the same time the
effect of conducting him to the door. “I’ll see you later,” he told
him. “Before you have finished your packing at any rate. I want to talk
to you.”