‘The three practitioners between them have at last hit the nail on the
head, I hope. They probed the place, and discovered that the secret lay
in the bone. I underwent an operation for its removal three days ago
(after taking chloroform)... Thank God it is over. Though I am so weak,
my spirits are rather better. I wonder when I shall be at work again?
I asked the surgeons how long it would be first. I said a month? They
shook their heads. A year? I said. Not so long, they said. Six months? I
inquired. They would not, or could not, tell me. But never mind.
‘Run down, when you have half a day to spare, for the hours drag on so
drearily. O Cytherea, you can’t think how drearily!’
She went. Immediately on her departure Miss Aldclyffe sent a note to the
Old House, to Manston. On the maiden’s return, tired and sick at heart
as usual, she found Manston at the station awaiting her. He asked
politely if he might accompany her to Knapwater. She tacitly acquiesced.
During their walk he inquired the particulars of her brother’s illness,
and with an irresistible desire to pour out her trouble to some one,
she told him of the length of time which must elapse before he could be
strong again, and of the lack of comfort in lodgings.
Manston was silent awhile. Then he said impetuously: ‘Miss Graye, I will
not mince matters--I love you--you know it. Stratagem they say is fair
in love, and I am compelled to adopt it now. Forgive me, for I cannot
help it. Consent to be my wife at any time that may suit you--any remote
day you may name will satisfy me--and you shall find him well provided
for.’
For the first time in her life she truly dreaded the handsome man at
her side who pleaded thus selfishly, and shrank from the hot voluptuous
nature of his passion for her, which, disguise it as he might under a
quiet and polished exterior, at times radiated forth with a scorching
white heat. She perceived how animal was the love which bargained.
‘I do not love you, Mr. Manston,’ she replied coldly.