He wondered, pityingly, what she might not have had to endure, before giving in to parental tyranny.
"But she trusts me. She knows I shall not be so soon conquered. I shall go still, and insist upon being heard. So much, at least, I have a right to demand. If she tells me herself—if she looks at me with those true eyes, and says it—then I will be convinced."
And he started for the terminus, clinging hard to the little postscript, as a drowning man clings to a straw.
About an hour before luncheon, this same day, Mrs. Winton in the morning-room was at work over household accounts. Between the adding-up of successive columns of figures, she cast divers glances of satisfaction at the present state of affairs.
Something drew her eyes to the window, and she became aware of a slim, alert figure, walking quickly towards the front door. A smart pull at the bell followed. Instantly she divined the truth, and whispered,—"What a mercy the child is not here!"
She did not know, though her husband did, that Doris was away on purpose,—knowing that Maurice might come, and not trusting herself to meet him.
"Please, 'm,"—the little between-maid came in, twisting her apron-strings,—"please, 'm, it's a gentleman wants to see the Rector. And his name's Mr. Maurice, please, 'm."
"Tell Mr. Maurice I am sorry that the Rector is engaged."
Rose went and came back.
"Please, 'm, Mr. Maurice says he can wait."