“Well, since you must have it, Bella—as if she were in love.”
“So she is—with young Woolcock.”
“Nonsense,” repeated Susan, with unusual decision.
“Susan, don’t you dare to say ‘nonsense’ when I say a thing is so; you forget yourself. Aurea will be married to Herbert Woolcock before Christmas—that is pretty well settled. And now you may lock up the silver; I am going to bed.”
As Miss Morven was proceeding homewards, and, as usual, unattended (in spite of her Aunt Bella’s repeated remonstrances), she passed the Drum, and noticed a motor in waiting, and also a light in a conspicuous part of the premises—the little, bulging, front sitting-room. Here two figures were sharply outlined on the yellow blind. As Aurea looked, she saw a man and woman standing face to face; the man put his hands on the woman’s shoulders and stooped and kissed her. She recognised his profile in that instant—it was the profile of Owen Wynyard!
Although brother and sister had taken leave of one another, when they reached the car Wynyard looked up at the sky and said—
“It’s a splendid night; I believe I’ll go on with you to Brodfield, and walk back.”
The motor overtook Miss Morven as she reached the Rectory gate; here she stood for a moment in the shadow of the beech trees, and as the car and its occupants swung into the full light of the last lamp (oil) in Ottinge, she had a view of the back of the woman’s head—a woman talking eagerly to her companion, who faced her in an easy attitude, cigar in hand. The man was her aunts’ chauffeur. As the car glided by, he laughed an involuntary, appreciative, and familiar laugh that spoke of years of intimacy—a laugh that pierced the heart of its unseen listener with the force and agony of a two-edged sword.
For a moment the girl felt stunned; then she began to experience the shock of wounded pride, of insulted love, of intolerable humiliation.