"I saw the surface. He was described to me as indifferent to most
things."
Millie hesitated. "I think he will take trouble to get what he wants.
I don't know whether you will put that down to his credit or not? But I
do believe that in his own way he is fond of Fanny, and perhaps--"
She stopped. Wareham would have given a good deal to know whether the
"perhaps" had remote connection with Miss Dalrymple. He had time to
reflect, for Millie was called upon to provide another cup of tea for
the visitor. When she came back he put a leading question.
"Do you often go to Thorpe?"
"Very very seldom. The house is generally full at this season, and just
now there is a big party." She hesitated again, reproached herself, and
added, "The Martyns and Lady and Miss Dalrymple are there."
He looked up quickly, and his eye met hers. Something in it told his
secret, and Millie turned pale. The thought was not strange to her,
perhaps, although latterly it had withdrawn; it was always standing at
hand, ready to step in; but withdrawn it had, and to see it again, and
to have it advancing so determinedly that she could never any more treat
it as a figment of her imagination, gave her a sharp stab. He, all
unconscious of his self-betrayal, thought his remark, "A drifting
together of Norwegian travellers!" diplomatic; and he ventured to add,
"I have heard that Lady and Miss Dalrymple are not sympathetic."
"Fanny does not say. I believe they had only just arrived," murmured
Millie.
The visitor was departing, and she was glad of the interruption. When
it was over Mrs Ravenhill drew her chair near the others.
"Millie," she said, "I fancy Mr Wareham gives me credit for romancing,
but surely Fanny in her last letter mentioned his name as among the
people they were expecting?"
"I think she said he was invited, or was going to be invited."
"Ah, then, that was it."
"And perhaps they have thought better of it," returned Wareham, a little
awkwardly.
To this there could be no answer, and Mrs Ravenhill turned the subject.
Wareham lingered as long as he thought decency required, and rose to
take his leave. Mrs Ravenhill reverted with a smile to her
supposition.
"If you had been going to Thorpe, I should have asked you to put Lady
Fanny's gold thimble, which I only discovered this morning, in your
pocket. But now I will send it by post."
"A safer plan," Wareham agreed. "Even if I had received this visionary
invitation, it is improbable that I could have accepted it." The
fiction served as indemnification for pricks which judgment administered
when his mind flew to Thorpe, and beheld himself with Anne, rashly
venturing within reach of temptation, while his promise still held him
dumb. Walking away in the darkness through Sussex Place, he flung not a
thought behind at poor Millie, all his dreams fluttering round Anne. He
had succeeded in the object of his visit, and had discovered where she
was, a knowledge which he would have been happier without, as the vague
uneasiness which Lord Milborough's name aroused became more insistent
when he learnt that he and she were actually again together. It was in
vain that he told himself it was, no doubt, the fulfilment of some
promise made in Norway, that the same party which had foregathered in
the yacht should meet again at Thorpe. Suspicion, thoroughly awakened,
assured him that more lay in it. And why was he to be asked? This, he
knew, must be Anne's doing. Lord Milborough and he had scarcely met,
certainly had shown no inclination for each other's society, and
although he was not unaccustomed to being sought as a literary lion,
that would not be the explanation now. Perhaps Anne desired him to see
her.
An impulse led him to strike upwards to the Park, for the jangle and the
fret of the streets became insupportable, and, more than this, it
appeared that he had a companion at his elbow whom he loved, yet longed
to dismiss. If not, why were Hugh's words sounding--reverberating--in
his ears? Above wheels, and underground hiss of train, louder, far,
than when the dying man spoke them--"You promise? Not a word for two
months." And then again, again, the same words, the same voice.
Wareham paced impatiently. Why this repetition, which seemed like
doubt? Honour fretted under the imputation. But ten days remained of
the trial time, then came free speech, at least the power to ask for
what he wanted. If, as Love whispered deliciously, Anne loved him, she
would not so quickly sell herself to another man. His heart plucked
courage from the "No" which he shouted at it. And, during that time, it
was better that they should not meet, for it was intolerable bondage to
be tied hand and foot, yet be by her side. Count days and hours, but
count them out of sight of her. He resolved to decline, and slept more
peacefully that night than he had of late.
The next morning he was half ashamed of the past evenings disturbance,
and would have been amazed if any one had informed him that cool
reflection is sometimes as much to be watched in love as a sudden drop
of temperature in a fever. Among his letters were two which he looked
at without a throb, although by the post-marks he knew that they must be
from Thorpe. The first he opened was a brief invitation from Lord
Milborough, asking him from Monday to Thursday. As he read, Wareham
framed an answer of refusal in his mind. The other was from Anne, as
short, but different. She underlined a hope that he would come.
And now cool reflection stepped briskly forth. Go or not, let him
choose which he deliberately preferred, only avoiding the cowardly fear
that he might not be master of himself. Pledged he was, and pledged he
must remain, since no thought of evasion could be honourably entertained
for a moment; but he was not therefore bound to give false impressions,
or to allow Anne to suppose that he by choice avoided her. His refusal
would make her think so? Then let him go.
Wareham wrote and accepted. As a compromise, he left Anne's letter
unanswered.
Civility, he thought, required that he should go and ask for Lady
Fanny's thimble. He went on Sunday afternoon.
"So I was right, after all," Mrs Ravenhill said, with a laugh. "I hope
you will get good shooting."
Millie chiefly talked to a boy about postage stamps. She and Wareham
scarcely exchanged words until he rose to leave. Then he said--
"Have you any message?"
"For Fanny?" She looked surprised. "My love, please."
"I meant for Miss Dalrymple."
Her "Oh!" was abrupt. She added, immediately, "No, I shouldn't venture.
Miss Dalrymple has probably forgotten that we ever met."
In his hansom Wareham reflected that women were difficult to understand
in their dealings with each other. Anne had always been charming, why
should Millie turn a sharp edge towards her? It was the more
astonishing because Millie had nothing of the angular about her. As
little would he have imagined that she had the heroic soul. Yet one may
call it so when a woman bears the quenching of her hopes without
complaint or bitterness. Millie went cheerfully about her daily
occupations. Her mother imagined her a little pale, no more. She
preferred silence, but talked as usual when it was necessary.
Altogether there was nothing to call for remark. Yet in that look she
had read Wareham's heart, the more quickly, perhaps, for the quickening
in her own, and before it all the budding hopes which were gently
unfolding themselves shrivelled and died. To believe that Miss
Dalrymple might reject him would have brought her no comfort, for there
still exist women to whom love is so delicate and wonderful a thing that
they can only look upon it as eternal, and she was ready to stake her
faith upon Wareham's constancy. One night Mrs Ravenhill unconsciously
fell into the channel of her thoughts.
"Fanny has not written?"
"Not a word; so I suppose she waits until she can tell us that something
definite has been said or settled."
"It is too bad of Lord Milborough. I am afraid he is going to object
strongly, and _yet_ wishes to avoid upsetting Fanny while he has this
large house-party. Or is he really taken up with thoughts and wishes of
his own?"
"I wonder," said Millie.
"If there was ever any truth in that fancy of yours about Mr Wareham,
he will add another complication! But I don't believe it. I think you
were determined to create a romance."
The girl laughed, with successful hiding of the effort.
"Well, we shall hear what Fanny thinks."
"Poor little Fanny!"
"She will have to fight her own battles and his too."
"Oh, I am not so sure. He has fighting blood in him."
"Is it the glow of the Berserker?" asked Millie wickedly.
Doubt had not left Wareham. It laid a hand, healthfully cold, as he had
to own, upon the visions of Anne which crowded before him. It suggested
a telegraphed excuse as a means of escaping the ordeal. But it found
itself confronted determinedly by a strong man's pride. Now that he had
agreed to go, pride assured him that to shrink was disgraceful, and
before pride, stepping robustly forward, doubt looked a poor shadowy
thing. Wareham ordered it out of the way, and Monday saw him in the
train which would take him to Thorpe in time for dinner. He had a drive
of some miles from the station, and from the length of road which lay
between the lodge and the house, perceived that the park was very large.
A slight descent led to twinkling lights. Here stood the great house,
planted solidly as a castle, of which, indeed, it only wanted the name.
And here was Anne.