Another procession--that of the Old Church Sunday school--came up, with
standards floating and drums beating, out of the steepness of Woodisun
Bank, and turned into Wedgwood Street, which thenceforward was loosely
thronged by procession and sightseers. The importance of the festival
was now quite manifest, for at the end of the street could be seen Saint
Luke's Square, massed with human beings in movement. Osmond Orgreave
and his daughter were lost to view in the brave crowd; but after a
little, Edwin distinctly saw Janet's sunshade leave Wedgwood Street at
the corner of the Wedgwood Institution and bob slowly into the Cock
Yard, which was a narrow thoroughfare leading to the market-place and
the Town Hall, and so to the top of Saint Luke's Square. He said
nothing, and kept straight on along Wedgwood Street past the Covered
Market.
"I hope you didn't catch cold in the rain the other night," he
remarked--grimly, as he thought.
"I should have thought it would have been you who were more likely to
catch cold," Hilda replied, in her curt manner. She looked in front of
her. The words seem to him to carry a double meaning. Suddenly she
moved her head, glanced full at him for an instant, and glanced behind
her. "Where are they?" she inquired.
"The others? Aren't they in front? They must be some where about."
Unless she also had marked their deviation into the Cock Yard, why had
she glanced behind her in asking where they were? She knew as well as
he that they had started in front. He could only deduce that she had
been as willing as himself to lose Mr Orgreave and Janet. Just then an
acquaintance raised his hat to Edwin in acknowledgement of the lady's
presence, and he responded with pride. Whatever his private attitude to
Hilda, he was undeniably proud to be seen in the streets with a
disdainful, aloof girl unknown to the town. It was an experience
entirely new to him, and it flattered him. He desired to look long at
her face, to examine her expression, to make up his mind about her; but
he could not, because they were walking side by side. The sole
manifestation of her that he could judge was her voice. It was a
remarkable voice, rather deep, with a sort of chiselled intonation. The
cadences of it fell on the ear softly and yet ruthlessly, and when she
had finished speaking you became aware of silence, as after a solemn
utterance of destiny. What she happened to have been saying seemed to
be immaterial to the effect, which was physical, vibratory.
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