“What! quarrelling, Markham?” cried the latter, addressing himself to me,—“and about that young widow, I doubt?” he added, reproachfully shaking his head. “But let me tell you, young man” (here he put his face into mine with an important, confidential air), “she’s not worth it!” and he confirmed the assertion by a solemn nod.
“MR. MILLWARD,” I exclaimed, in a tone of wrathful menace that made the reverend gentleman look round—aghast—astounded at such unwonted insolence, and stare me in the face, with a look that plainly said, “What, this to me!” But I was too indignant to apologise, or to speak another word to him: I turned away, and hastened homewards, descending with rapid strides the steep, rough lane, and leaving him to follow as he pleased.
CHAPTER XI
You must suppose about three weeks passed over. Mrs. Graham and I were now established friends—or brother and sister, as we rather chose to consider ourselves. She called me Gilbert, by my express desire, and I called her Helen, for I had seen that name written in her books. I seldom attempted to see her above twice a week; and still I made our meetings appear the result of accident as often as I could—for I found it necessary to be extremely careful—and, altogether, I behaved with such exceeding propriety that she never had occasion to reprove me once. Yet I could not but perceive that she was at times unhappy and dissatisfied with herself or her position, and truly I myself was not quite contented with the latter: this assumption of brotherly nonchalance was very hard to sustain, and I often felt myself a most confounded hypocrite with it all; I saw too, or rather I felt, that, in spite of herself, “I was not indifferent to her,” as the novel heroes modestly express it, and while I thankfully enjoyed my present good fortune, I could not fail to wish and hope for something better in future; but, of course, I kept such dreams entirely to myself.
“Where are you going, Gilbert?” said Rose, one evening, shortly after tea, when I had been busy with the farm all day.
“To take a walk,” was the reply.
“Do you always brush your hat so carefully, and do your hair so nicely, and put on such smart new gloves when you take a walk?”
“Not always.”
“You’re going to Wildfell Hall, aren’t you?”
“What makes you think so?”