"I did not see much of your friend when we were travelling together."
"Millie is shy. And I think one must know her at home to know her at
all. Once known, once loved!"
"You are a warm friend," said Anne, with a smile. "For a true estimate
I must go to some indifferent person. Will Mr Wareham do? Or is he,
too, bespoken counsel?"
A glance at Fanny showed her red, she did not like the word bespoken.
"I have never talked to Mr Wareham about Miss Ravenhill," she said
stiffly.
"Oh, I have!"
It was irresistible.
"And what did he say?" asked Lady Fanny, with eagerness.
"Well, not quite so much as you. Could you expect it?" There was a
touch of malice in Anne's voice, which Fanny resented.
"What did I say? That to know her was to love her? Oh, no, I couldn't
expect that! Do you see that ugly little clump of houses? That's the
beginning of Risley."
On the whole, Anne had gathered enough to make her thoughtful. She kept
on indifferent subjects the rest of the afternoon. As they drove back
it was evident that rain was at hand, the sky had grown wild, the
country had that ragged look which thinning leaves give in a high wind.
"If I dared prophesy on my neighbours' clouds, I should say there would
be no shooting to-morrow," Anne said.
"A house full of bored men instead," sighed Lady Fanny.
For their misfortunes Anne cared little. She had meant to find
opportunity somewhere, and this promised freely.
That night she dressed for dinner with care, the white satin setting off
her rich dark beauty, and if she had perplexities, no sign betrayed
them. To see her lightly talking would have been to disbelieve that she
could be keenly on the watch, eye and ear together heedful. She had to
keep Lord Milborough pleased and yet doubtful, to ward off for another
thirty-six hours what he was burning to say at once, to read Wareham's
mind--if possible, to bring him to her feet. Then and not till then
would she decide. But meanwhile she could not, would not, cease to be
charming.
There was no repetition of her movement of the evening before, and
thought for Millie led Lady Fanny to plant Wareham at a safe distance
from the dangerous Miss Dalrymple. Anne submitted. That night she had
foreseen would offer no chance of the words she wanted.
She was not mistaken in the effect she produced on Wareham. Her beauty
was of the kind which is set off by rich surroundings; she seldom looked
at him, but when her dark smiling eyes rested upon him for a moment, he
was conscious of the same dizzy thrill which had seized him that early
morning at Haare; and the greediness with which his ears drank in every
tone of her voice, made him a dull companion to a young lady in awe of a
well-known author, and prepared to treasure words. Anne did not fail to
note his silence, nor that she held his attention.
After dinner he came to her, encouraged by her look, but Lord Milborough
was there as soon. Would she prefer the billiard-room? Anne shook her
head.
"Listen to the rain, and keep billiards for to-morrow, when you will be
wandering miserably about the house, wretched examples of the
unemployed."
Lord Milborough protested that there was no fear of his finding the
house miserable. He would have given up shooting that afternoon, could
he only have gone with her and Fanny to Risley.
"You would have been terribly in the way," he was told. "Only two
should drive together. Besides, we amused ourselves by discussing some
of you."
This piqued him into curiosity, as she expected. Wareham sat
indifferent, caring nothing whether he were discussed or no, but
conscious of imprisoned words beating wildly at the bars behind which he
had set them. He knew now that he had been mad to come.
Ordinarily Anne and her step-mother exchanged as few words as possible;
this night, as the party separated, Lady Dalrymple announced that she
had something to say, and was bidden to Anne's room at a later period.
When she swept in, attired in a flame-coloured wrapper of softest silk,
Anne flung her a glance of reluctant admiration. She was under
thirty-five, tall, and sufficiently dark to annoy Anne, who hated to
hear of likeness; a too important nose stood in the way of claims to
beauty, but perhaps gave weight to the verdict of handsome. A high
voice had rasping tones in it, and the line of her eyebrows was so
unpleasantly even as to suggest pencilling.
She sank into the chair which was pushed forward for her, and put her
question.
"May I ask whether anything is decided?" Anne's eyes darkened, but she
answered briefly--
"Nothing."
"And we leave on Thursday. I go to the Sinclairs' as settled, after
that my plans are changed."
Anne did not turn her head.
"You mean to marry?"
"Lord Arthur Crosse."