They were interrupted by Osmond Orgreave, with his, "Well, Edwin,"
jolly, welcoming, and yet slightly quizzical. Edwin could not look him
in the face without feeling self-conscious. Nor dared he glance at
Hilda to see what her demeanour was like under the good-natured scrutiny
of her friend's father.
"We thought you'd forgotten us," said Mr Orgreave. "But that's always
the way with neighbours." He turned to Hilda. "It's true," he
continued, jerking his head at Edwin. "He scarcely ever comes to see
us, except when you're here."
"Steady on!" Edwin murmured. "Steady on, Mr Orgreave!" And hastily
he asked a question about Mrs Orgreave's asthma; and from that the
conversation passed to the doings of the various absent members of the
family.
"You've been working, as usual, I suppose," said Edwin.
"Working!" laughed Mr Orgreave. "I've done what I could, with Hilda
there! Instead of going up to Hillport with Janet, she would stop here
and chatter about strikes."
Hilda smiled at him benevolently as at one to whom she permitted
everything.
"Mr Clayhanger agrees with me," she said.
"Oh! You needn't tell me!" protested Mr Orgreave. "I could see you
were as thick as thieves over it." He looked at Edwin. "Has she told
you she wants to go over a printing works?"
"No," said Edwin. "But I shall be very pleased to show her over ours,
any time."
She made no observation.
"Look here," said Edwin suddenly, "I must be off. I only slipped in for
a minute, really." He did not know why he said this, for his greatest
wish was to probe more deeply into the tantalising psychology of Hilda
Lessways. His tongue, however, had said it, and his tongue reiterated
it when Mr Orgreave urged that Janet and Alicia would be back soon and
that food would then be partaken of. He would not stay. Desiring to
stay, he would not. He wished to be alone, to think. Clearly Hilda had
been talking about him to Mr Orgreave, and to Janet. Did she discuss
him and his affairs with everybody?
Nor would he, in response to Mr Orgreave's suggestion, promise
definitely to call again on the next evening. He said he would try.
Hilda took leave of him nonchalantly. He departed.
And as he made the half-circuit of the misty lawn, on his way to the
gates, he muttered in his heart, where even he himself could scarcely
hear: "I swore I'd do something, and I haven't. Well, of course, when
she talked seriously like that, what could I do?" But he was disgusted
with himself and ashamed of his namby-pambiness.
He strolled thoughtfully up Oak Street, and down Trafalgar Road; and
when he was near home, another wayfarer saw him face right about and go
up Trafalgar Road and disappear at the corner of Oak Street.
The Orgreave servant was surprised to see him at the front door again
when she answered a discreet ring.
"I wish you'd tell Miss Lessways I want to speak to her a moment, will
you?"
"Miss Lessways?"
"Yes." What an adventure!
"Certainly, sir. Will you come in?" She shut the door.
"Ask her to come here," he said, smiling with deliberate confidential
persuasiveness. She nodded, with a brighter smile.
The servant vanished, and Hilda came. She was as red as fire. He began
hurriedly.
"When will you come to look over our works? To-morrow? I should like
you to come." He used a tone that said: "Now don't let's have any
nonsense! You know you want to come."
She frowned frankly. There they were in the hall, like a couple of
conspirators, but she was frowning; she would not meet him half-way. He
wished he had not permitted himself this caprice. What importance had a
private oath? He felt ridiculous.
"What time?" she demanded, and in an instant transformed his disgust
into delight.
"Any time." His heart was beating with expectation.
"Oh no! You must fix the time."
"Well, after tea. Say between half-past six and a quarter to seven.
That do?"
She nodded.
"Good," he murmured. "That's all! Thanks. Good-night!"
He hastened away, with a delicate photograph of the palm of her hand
printed in minute sensations on the palm of his.
"I did it, anyhow!" he muttered loudly, in his heart. At any rate he
was not shamed. At any rate he was a man. The man's face was burning,
and the damp noxious chill of the night only caressed him agreeably.