"Nigel, I don't want to seem unkind," she said; "but, do you know, I really almost think you ought not to stay any longer—if you haven't seen your home-people yet."
This finished Nigel off! Ethel wished him to go! Ethel thought him wrong to have come! His face did not fall into a vexed or doleful set, but it grew exceedingly grave, and all sparkle was gone. He did not question her judgment. Of course she was right, entirely right; and all along he had known himself to be acting with no great wisdom. Still he did feel acutely that if the meeting with him had been to Ethel what the meeting with Ethel was to him, she could not so cheerfully have proposed to shorten the interview.
Could she not? That was the question!
Nigel had no doubt at all about the impossibility. A grey cloud had swept over his sky, blotting out his hopes. Yet he acted at once upon her suggestion, for if Ethel wished him to go, nothing else could keep him.
"Yes, certainly—good-bye," he said, holding out his hand.
"You don't mind my saying it? I'm only thinking of your mother."
Oh no; he did not mind, if "minding" meant being angry. He could honestly reply with a "No." Ethel was "only thinking" of his mother, and he had been "only thinking" of Ethel. That made the difference.
"No, you are right; I ought not to have forgotten," he said vaguely, though he had not quite forgotten; and in another minute he was walking swiftly homewards through the streets.
But how different everything looked! The shadow which had fallen upon himself seemed to envelop the whole town.
It was late when Nigel reached the Grange door. He stood outside for a moment, lost in thought; his hand upon the bell, but not pulling it. The deep tones of St. Stephen's clock were booming out ten strokes in slow succession, and the bass notes of the Grange hall clock seemed trying to overtake church time.