Chapter Nineteen.
Summer was on the wane and autumn was busy early colouring the leaves. Edward Morgan had intended returning to Wortheton before the finish of the warm weather; but many things prevented him from carrying out his wish; and the weeks went by without any sign from him, save the regular arrival of the monthly parcel of books, which Prudence as regularly acknowledged, writing a frank girlish letter of thanks, which took longer to compose than the subject matter warranted. The difficulty of writing those letters increased with each repetition of the performance. He never wrote to her. He did not even address the parcels; they came direct from the bookseller. Had he sent a few friendly lines with his gifts it would have made the task of acknowledgment easier.
Each time that he received one of these brief inconsequent epistles Mr Morgan opened it eagerly and hastily read it in the always vain hope of finding the wish expressed therein that he would fulfil his promise to revisit Wortheton. But Prudence made no mention of this matter. And he locked the letters away in a private drawer and waited in patient hopefulness for the next. The next letter invariably roused similar emotions and brought further disappointment on perusal. Mr Morgan proved of his own experience that being in love is not a happy condition of mind.
On the whole Prudence enjoyed the possession of an undeclared suitor: it gave her a sense of importance, a sense too of future security. She could regard with indifference the acid rigour of Agatha’s authority and brother William’s pompous displeasure. William had been extremely annoyed by the arrival of the new bicycle, and had made unpleasant observations about Prudence’s roaming habits and her propensity for making casual and undesirable acquaintances. It was very evident that William considered that his sister rode abroad in quest of these adventures. His insinuations exasperated her, but they did not shake her determination to ride when and where she pleased.
It was soon after the arrival of the new cycle, when she was enjoying her first long rides after the accident, that she met again the man whose kindness to her lingered pleasantly in her memory, despite the shock of disillusion which had eclipsed much of the brightness of the recollection. The encounter sprung upon her unaware. She had neither expected nor wished to meet Major Stotford again. But when he overtook her in his car, and stopped the car a few yards ahead of her and waited for her to come up with it, there was no doubt in Prudence’s mind as to what she ought to do. She ceased peddling and alighted. Major Stotford, who was alone, opened the door of the car and stepped into the road beside her.
“A piece of good luck!” he said, shaking hands. “I’ve often wondered about you. There is no need to ask if you have quite recovered. So they let you ride again?”
“They didn’t want to; it was a fight,” Prudence said, and laughed.
“Yes!” he said, smiling too. “I imagined you would have difficulty. I’m glad you won. They didn’t tell you, I suppose, that I called to inquire a few days after our adventure?”
“No; they didn’t tell me,” she replied, and flushed slightly. “It was very kind of you. I didn’t know.”
“I thought possibly it might not get to your knowledge,” he said coolly, and surveyed her flushed face with keen appreciation. “I was not allowed to see you, but was privileged to interview your brother instead. I have never approved of substitutes, and discovered on that occasion no good reason for reconsidering my prejudice. I’m delighted to meet you again anyhow.”
His frankness embarrassed Prudence; but she recalled his kindness and the service he had done her, and felt further vexation with her family.
“I’m glad too,” she said, playing nervously with the little bell on her handle-bar. He took hold of the handle-bar also and became immensely interested in the machine.
“It’s a new one, isn’t it?” he said. “Surely the other wasn’t past repairing?”
“I don’t know. They got rid of it.”
“I see.” His eyes twinkled. “And you compelled them to make good. They have done it quite handsomely. Your persuasive powers must be considerably greater than mine.”
“I threatened to hire,” said Prudence, and immediately realised on hearing him laugh that this admission was disloyal to the family. She lifted her eyes with a flash of pride in them to his smiling face. “Father is always generous,” she said. “He wouldn’t trust the old cycle again, though the spill was entirely my fault. I’m cautious in regard to dogs now.”
“Yes,” he agreed, the smile deepening. “Caution is a quality which the wise cultivate. Possibly had I not considerably neglected it I should have been more successful—socially. But these things are so dull.”
He took his hand off the handle-bar and straightened himself and looked down at her with a quick resolve in his face.
“We managed to find room for the old cycle,” he said. “I don’t see why there need be any difficulty in stowing this away. What do you say? Will you drive with me?”
For the fraction of a second Prudence hesitated. She did not want to drive with him. She knew that if she agreed she could not speak of it at home: there was something a little shameful in doing what must of necessity be done secretly. But the memory of that former occasion on which she had been glad enough to make use of his car was in her mind, and made a refusal to accept the present invitation appear pointedly ungracious.
“You would rather not?” he said reproachfully.
Prudence made up her mind on the instant.
“Thank you, I should like it. But couldn’t we leave the bicycle somewhere and pick it up on our return?”
“We could,” he said. “That’s not a bad idea. There’s an inn a quarter of a mile along the road. I’ll drive on so that you shan’t be smothered in dust, and you follow; then we’ll house the bicycle and go for a joy ride.”
He re-entered the car and drove off; while Prudence, waiting for the cloud of dust which he raised to subside, stood beside her machine, dismayed at the realisation of what she had consented to do, and considering whether it would not be wiser to head her cycle in the opposite direction and ride home. But reflection showed her the impossibility of acting in so ungracious a manner. She should have declined his invitation in the first instance; to evade the engagement now was unthinkable.
When she arrived at the inn it was to discover that Major Stotford had made the necessary arrangements; it only remained for her to relinquish her cycle to the man who stood ready to take it, and climb to her seat in the car. Despite a determination to enjoy herself and banish disquieting thoughts, Prudence was conscious of feeling not entirely at her ease with her companion. She could not have explained this sense of mistrust. There was nothing in Major Stotford’s manner to arouse it; she decided that possibly it resulted from what she had learned in regard to his private life. That ugly story coloured all her thoughts of him, and revealed him in an unfavourable light. She had not met this type of man before.
Nevertheless he interested her. He talked well. And he was so manifestly enjoying himself and showed such eagerness to please her that Prudence made an effort to shake off her uneasiness and share his pleasure in the excursion. But when he stopped at a little village some miles further on and took her into a place where they catered for tourists, the old disquieting feeling came back intensified; and she knew that she was not enjoying herself, that she shrank from appearing in public with a man whose acquaintance she had been forbidden. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that she had acted indiscreetly.
“I would rather go on,” she said. “I don’t want tea, and I mustn’t be late.”
“We shan’t be here many minutes,” he replied. “And you must have something. Rushing through the air gives me an appetite. I’ll get you back in good time, if I have to exceed the speed limit. We’ve been doing that already.”
He carried his point and led her within. They were shown into a little room where a table was laid for tea. There was no one else in the room, though from across the passage voices were audible and the sound of clinking china in proof that other travellers were taking refreshment. Major Stotford looked about him critically, flung his gloves on a chair, and advised Prudence to sit down and rest.
“I’ll go and order something to eat,” he said.
Prudence, who was standing near the window, looking out on a regiment of tall hollyhocks and a group of flaming dahlias blooming in the little garden, made no response; and he left the room, closing the door behind him.
With the closing of the door she faced about, feeling extraordinarily like a person trapped. It was absurd of course; but her heart beat with uncomfortable rapidity, and excitement flushed her face and lent a brightness to her eyes. She moved about the room restlessly examining the gaudy prints on the walls and the hideous design of the Brussels carpet; but was unable to fix her attention on anything, and wandered back to the window again.
There was a flavour of wrong-doing in this adventure which troubled her. The fear of being found out loomed with ugly insistence in the foreground of her ideas. She wished he had been satisfied simply to drive with her. This unforeseen development with its intimate suggestion of confidential relations vexed her. Intuition told her that in the circumstances he should have refrained from taking this step.
Then the door opened again to admit him. He came in, confident and smiling, and joined her where she stood at the window.