Conolly stopped, and turned upon her so suddenly that she recoiled a step, frightened.
“Since when, pray?”
“Very lately, I think. I do not know.”
They neither moved nor spoke for some moments: she earnestly regretting that she had lingered so far behind her companions in the terrible darkness. He walked on at last faster than before. No more words passed between them until they came out into the moonlight close to the veranda. Then he stopped again, and took off his hat.
“Permit me to leave you now,” he said, with an artificial politeness worthy of Douglas himself. “Good-night.”
“Good-night,” faltered Marian.
He walked gravely away. Marian hurried into the veranda, where she found Jasper and Elinor. The other couple had gone into the drawing-room.
“Hallo!” said Jasper, “where is Conolly? I want to say a word to him before he goes.”
“He has just gone,” said Marian, pointing across the lawn. Jasper immediately ran out in the direction indicated, and left the two cousins alone together.
“Well, Marian,” said Elinor, “do you know that you have taken more than quarter of an hour longer to come from the plantation than we did, and that you look quite scared? Our sweet Constance, as the parson calls her, has been making some kind remarks about it.”