"Still more, one must know them to tell them."
"You are sitting there, and not accusing me of something?"
"I am heaping dust on my own head for a fool," he groaned. "Give me
time, and you shall know."
She leaned back and stared at the fire, conscious of a thrill, but not
the thrill she expected. Wareham's words hinting at a wall between them
raised immediate discontent, for obstacles should be cleared when she
was wooed. And she had set herself this day as the limit of the time
accorded him, believing it possible that she might yield to impetuosity.
To this sluggish demand--never! It was not for this that she could
give up what she felt it was heroic to reject. She was colder now than
five minutes ago.
Wareham, not yet enlightened, and imagining himself to have told only
too much, leaned half across the table which was between them.
"Will you wait?" he breathed. The words, "Only a few days," almost
choked him.
Anne's "I cannot," was inexorable, stunning. She rose up directly and
went to the window, expecting to have raised a tempest, and for a moment
again, perhaps irresolute. He stood, but did not follow her, and she
felt angrily indignant that her power was not equal to breaking the
silence. To hide the humiliation, she said lightly--
"Let us go before another storm begins."
Had she looked at him, pity might have stirred, but she went out of the
room without turning her head.
Wareham followed.
She began to feel the position ludicrous. A walk of a mile with a man
whom her impatience was ready to imagine had rejected her by his
obstinate silence, was so hateful in anticipation that she would have
been ready to bless Mary Tempest if she had brought a whole posse of
spies upon them. Moreover, she foresaw that the weight of conversation
would fall upon her, the woman, and therefore expected to keep
conventionality in the front. Wet rhododendrons and dripping
beech-trees suggested nothing beyond a passing remark, inane as it was
safe. The dullness of Mary Tempest's home-life lasted longer, in the
midst of it she fancied a desperate "Anne!" was breathed in her ear, and
quickened her steps. Her coldness now had reached the pitch of a shiver
at her own foolishness; above all, she wished to avoid the promise of an
explanation. Luckily for her, the heavy drops falling from the trees
allowed her the shelter of an umbrella; she kept it at her ears, and
shot flying remarks from underneath, careful to avoid any which took the
form of questions. Her endeavours did not prevent an angry
acknowledgment that if he had anything he burned to say, he would have
said it.
They were near the end of the wood, and her heart sank at thought of the
long stretch which still lay between it and the house, when, to her joy,
she heard voices. The gate was reached simultaneously, she and Wareham
on one side, the other Colonel and Mrs Martyn with Lord Milborough.
"Are you surprised to see us?" asked Mrs Martyn, serenely smiling at
the situation, which she believed to be disconcerting to more than one.
"I was at my window when you crossed the park, and as Lord Milborough
and Tom came back long before they were expected, we all started forth
in pursuit. Have you been far?"
The question was put to Wareham, and he answered it by saying that they
had taken refuge from the rain in a house by the lake.
"Where we admired your provident hospitality," Anne added, with a smile
to Lord Milborough. "To be met by a cheery fire where one expected bare
shelter, was such a delicious surprise, that I feel as if we ought to go
back and do the honours to the owner."
"Oh, no, no," objected Mrs Martyn. "It is growing dark, and tea will
be ready by this time."
Colonel Martyn announced that he should give himself a stretch, as he
wanted exercise.
"You won't come, I suppose?" he said to Lord Milborough, who excused
himself.
Mrs Martyn went on with Wareham, from whom she hoped to find out
something; the other two followed, Lord Milborough's face clearing like
magic.
"Stop, and let those people go ahead," he said.
"Shall we hurt them?" Anne asked demurely.
After the humiliation of the past hour, it was balm to feel herself
again. Never had she liked her companion so well.
"_I'm_ in the humour to do any one a harm who comes in my way," he
muttered. "Anne!"
She lifted her eyebrows.
"Isn't she a new person?"
"Look here," he said, disregarding, "I got a hint that if I bothered you
to-day my chance was up. I've tried, 'pon my soul I've tried, to keep
off, and I can't. When I'd driven Martyn a few miles, I had to make an
excuse and turn back again, and here I am by your side, and--"
He tried to possess himself of her hand, but she drew it away. Not so,
however, as to show displeasure. The very audacity of ignoring her
commands pleased her, since she flattered herself he found the task
impossible, and contrasting the two, she scourged Wareham in her
thoughts.
"Anne, will you marry me?"
"What were you told?"
"That you were to be left in peace. I vowed I would. But when I heard
that you were with that fellow Wareham--"
"You broke your vow?"
"Like a shot--."
He was in earnest, she had never seen him so much in earnest. Some good
elf had surely whispered in his ear what she craved for at that moment--
perhaps always--a forceful impetuosity of wooing, which should snatch
decision from her. Her hand was in his again, and not withdrawn. She
begged him to have some thought of eyes from the house.
"Say yes, or I'll not answer for myself."
He was told to give her five minutes for consideration, and at the end
of two was vowing that they were more than past, and pressing for his
answer. To punish him, she lengthened the time, declaring that he
should hear nothing until they had reached a certain tree near the
house, and thus kept him fuming, at one moment uttering sincere vows, at
the next denouncing her cruelty. Anne was in the mood to like
inconsistency.
"Now!" he exclaimed, when they were a hundred feet away.
"Do you call that reached?"
"If the sun were out, you'd be in its shadow. Give me my word. Just
yes, Anne--yes! Such a small one!"
"No, is smaller." Then she repented and looked at him. "Yes, then."
"You are mine!"
"If you can keep me."
Wareham walked back with Mrs Martyn, for the first time in his life
grateful to her satisfaction with her own babble. At intervals she
tried to catch him with an astute question; indifference protected him,
for his heart felt like nothing so much as an empty husk, and at this
moment there was nothing to show or conceal. It was all over, for
Anne's manner had conveyed to him that he would never be forgiven. In
place of sweet Love he hugged Honour, a prickly substitute! Yet he
breathed thankfully.
Of Lord Milborough he was not thinking, Mrs Martyn's hints not even
reaching his ears. Half-an-hour ago Anne, he believed, would have been
his, could he have claimed her, and to imagine that she was already won
by another, would have been to degrade womanhood. He went mechanically
with his companion into the house; all the women and some of the men
were in the hall, where a big fire blazed cheerfully, and tea stood on a
table where Lady Fanny chatted. Mary Tempest looked wistfully at
Wareham.
"Where is Anne?" murmured Lady Dalrymple languidly.
"Behind us."
And at this moment she came in and stood a central point for the
fire-light. As she drew off her gloves, her eyes, softly brilliant,
wandered round the group, and passed Wareham unconcernedly; her beauty
had the effect of eclipsing all the other women. Mrs Martyn touched
Wareham's arm.
"Look at Lord Milborough's face."
He looked, uncomprehending.
"Oh, men, men," said Mrs Martyn impatiently. "Of course it is
settled."