“Thank you. I am sorry to trouble you.”
“Not at all. I hope you do not want the hemlock to help you to get rid of the burden of life.”
“Nonsense. I want it for my father, who uses it for medicine.”
“I will bring it myself to-morrow. Is that soon enough?”
“Quite. I am in no hurry. Thank you, Mr. Trefusis. Good-bye.”
She gave him her hand, and even smiled a little, and then hurried away. He stood watching her as she passed along the avenue under the beeches. Once, when she came into a band of sunlight at a gap in the trees, she made so pretty a figure in her spring dress of violet and white that his eyes kindled as he gazed. He took out his note-book, and entered her name and the date, with a brief memorandum.
“I have thawed her,” he said to himself as he put up his book. “She shall learn a lesson or two to hand on to her children before I have done with her. A trifle underbred, too, or she would not insist so much on her breeding. Henrietta used to wear a dress like that. I am glad to see that there is no danger of her taking to me personally.”
He turned away, and saw a crone passing, bending beneath a bundle of sticks. He eyed it curiously; and she scowled at him and hurried on.
“Hallo,” he said.
She continued for a few steps, but her courage failed her and she stopped.