“You are frightfully cruel,” she had said. And he admitted that he had been. Yes, he had bullied her, her who, he was convinced, had always been the victim. In spite of her vigorous individuality she was destined to be a victim. He was sure that she had never deserved anything but sympathy and respect and affection. He was sure that she was the very incarnation of honesty—possibly she was too honest for the actual world. Did not the Orgreaves worship her? And could he himself have been deceived in his estimate of her character?
She recognised him only when she was close upon him. A faint, transient, wistful smile lightened her brooding face, pale and stern.
Four.
“Oh! There you are!” she exclaimed, in her clear voice. “Did I say six, or five, in my note?”
“Six.”
“I was afraid I had done, when I came here at five and didn’t find you. I’m so sorry.”
“No!” he said. “I think I ought to be sorry. It’s you who’ve had the waiting to do. The pier’s closed now.”
“It was just closing at five,” she answered. “I ought to have known. But I didn’t. The fact is, I scarcely ever go out. I remembered once seeing the pier open at night, and I thought it was always open.” She shrugged her shoulders as if stopping a shiver.
“I hope you haven’t caught cold,” he said. “Suppose we walk along a bit.”