But Mr. Darley, though he looked at the chair she indicated, did not take it. He remained standing on the hearthrug, facing the windows, his hands clasped behind him, and she then became aware that he was enduring a veritable agony of shyness. It did not take the form of blushes,—though his was a girlish skin that would display them instantly,—or of awkward gestures or faltering speech. It was a shyness wild, still, and bereft of all appeal, like that of a bird,—the simile came sharply to her,—a bird that had followed some swift impulse and that now, caught in a sudden hand, relapsed into utter immobility. His large eyes were on hers—fixed. His expression was like a throbbing heart. She knew that all she wanted, for the moment, was to show him that the hand was gentle.
“I’m afraid you came hoping to find Rhoda,” she said, looking away from him and giving her chair, as a pretext, sundry little adjustments before drawing it to the fire. “But she left this morning, after seeing me, and you must have crossed her on the road. At least—have you motored?”
The large eyes, she found, were still fixed on her as, with the question, she glanced up at him; but he answered immediately—rather as if with a croaking cry from the blackbird when one pressed it,—
“No; I came by train. I left a little after Rhoda did.”
“By train?” she marvelled kindly. “But we are four miles from the station here. Aren’t you, at your end, as far? And such roads!” She saw now that his boots and upturned trousers were, indeed, deeply mired.
“Oh—I didn’t mind the walk,” said Mr. Darley. “It wasn’t far.”
She was sure he hadn’t found it far. His whole demeanour expressed the overmastering impulse that had, till then, sustained him.
“Have you had any lunch?” she went on. “I can’t think where you can have lunched. There’s nothing at the station. Do let me send for something. I’ve only just finished.”
It seemed strangely indicated that she should, to-day, feed Rhoda and her lover.
But the caught blackbird was in no state for feeding. More wildly, yet more faintly than before he gave forth the croaking cry with, “Oh, no. Thanks so much. Yes. At our station. I found something at our station. Sandwiches; no, a bun. I had a cup of Bovril.”