On Greffington Edge.
Roddy was looking like Mark, with his eyes very steady and his mouth firm
and proud. His face was red as if he were angry. That was when he saw the
tall man coming towards them down the hill road.
Roddy walked slowly, trying not to meet him at the cattle-gate. The tall
man walked faster, and they met. Roddy opened the gate.
The tall man thanked him, said "Good day," looked at her as he passed
through, then stopped.
"My sister--Mr. Sutcliffe."
Mr. Sutcliffe, handsome with his boney, high-jointed nose and narrow jaw,
thrust out, incongruously fierce, under his calm, clean upper lip, shaved
to show how beautiful it was. His black blue eyes were set as carefully
in their lids as a woman's. He wore his hair rather long. One lock had
got loose and hung before his ear like a high whisker.
He was asking Roddy when he was coming to play tennis, and whether his
sister played. They might turn up tomorrow.
The light played on his curling, handsome smile. He hoped she liked
Rathdale.
"She only came yesterday," Roddy said.
"Well--come along to-morrow. About four o'clock. I'll tell my wife."
And Roddy said, "Thanks," as if it choked him.
Mr. Sutcliffe went on down the hill.
"We can't go," Roddy said.
"Why not?"
"Well--"
"Let's. He looked so nice, and he sounded as if he really wanted us."
"He doesn't. He can't. You don't know what's happened."
"_Has_ anything happened?"
"Yes. I don't want to tell you, but you'll have to know. It happened at
the Sutcliffes'."
"Who _are_ the Sutcliffes?"
"Greffington Hall. The people who own the whole ghastly place. We were
dining there. And Papa was funny."
"Funny? Funny what way?"
"Oh, I don't know.--Like Dan was at Mark's party.'
"Oh Roddy--" She was listening now.
"Not quite so awful; but that sort of thing. We had to come away."
"I didn't know he did."
"No more did I. Mamma always said it wasn't that. But it was this time.
And he chose that evening."
"Does Mamma mind frightfully?" she said.
"Yes. But she's angry with the Sutcliffes."
"Why?"
"Because they've _seen_ him."
"How many Sutcliffes are there?"
"Only him and Mrs. Sutcliffe. The son's in India.
"They'll never ask him again, and Mamma won't go without him. She says we
can go if we like, but you can see she'll think us skunks if we do."
"Well--then we can't."
She had wanted something to happen, and something had happened, something
that would bring unhappiness. Unhappiness. Her will rose up, hard and
stubborn, pushing it off.
"Will it matter so very much? Do the Sutcliffes matter?"
"They matter this much, that there won't be anything to do. They've got
all the shooting and fishing and the only decent tennis court in the
place. You little know what you're in for."
"I don't care, Roddy. I don't care a bit as long as I have you."
"Me? Me?"
He had stopped on the steep of the road; her feet had been lagging to
keep pace with him. He breathed hard through white-edged lips. She had
seen him look like that before. The day they had walked to the Thames, to
look at the ships, over the windy Flats.
He looked at her. A look she hadn't seen before. A look of passionate
unbelief.
"I didn't think you cared about me. I thought it was Mark you cared
about. Like Mamma."
"Can't you care about more than one person?"
"Mamma can't--"
"Oh Roddy--"
"What's the good of saying 'Oh Roddy' when you know it?"
They were sitting on a ledge of stone and turf. Roddy had ceased to
struggle with the hill.
"We're all the same," he said. "I'd give you and Dan up any day for Mark.
Dan would give up you and me. Mark would give up all of us for Mamma. And
Mamma would give up all of us for Mark."
Roddy had never said anything like that before.
"I'll stick to you, anyhow," she said.
"It's no use your sticking. I shan't be here. I shall have to clear out
and do something," he said.
On his face there was a look of fear.