"I am not a smoker," said Mr Neeld.
"Oh, you really are the very last man——! Well, come on the bridge," groaned Mina.
They waited on the bridge, and the wheels drew near. They spoke no more. They had found nothing to do. They could only wait. A fly came down the road.
There they sat, side by side. Cecily was leaning forward, her eyes were eager, and there was a bright touch of color on her cheeks; Harry leant back, looking at her, not at Blent. He wore a quiet smile; his air was very calm. He saw Mina and Neeld, and waved his hand to them. The fly stopped opposite the bridge. He jumped out and assisted Cecily to alight. In a moment she was in Mina's arms. The next, she recognized Neeld's presence with a little cry of surprise. At
a loss to account for himself, the old man stood there in embarrassed wretchedness.
"I want you to wait," said Harry to the driver. "Put up in the stables, and they'll give you something to eat. You must wait till I send you word."
"Wait? Why is he to wait, Harry?" asked Cecily. Her tone was gay; she was overflowing with joy and merriment. "Who's going away? Oh, is it you, Mr Neeld?"
"I—I have a trap from Mr Iver's," he stammered.
"I may want to send a message," Harry explained. "Kind of you to come, Mr Neeld."
"I—I must wish you joy," said Neeld, taking refuge in conventionality.