“Which is the greatest insult of all,” she responded. “Oh! go away—pray, pray go away. I would rather be alone.”
“Give me my answer first, Lady Gwendolyn?”
“You have had your answer.”
He opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly Lady Gwendolyn’s face assumed an expression of stolid composure, and she added, in a loud, formal voice:
“I am afraid you will find this a very dull place, Colonel Dacre. Beyond a little fishing, there is really nothing for a gentleman to do. Oh! is that really you, Captain Wyndham?” holding out her hand cordially, to a tall, pale man, who had approached them without attracting her companion’s attention. “Allow me to introduce you to Colonel Dacre—a near neighbor of my brother’s, at Teignmouth.”
The two men bowed to each other coldly. It is odd how quickly lovers scent a rival, and no very friendly look passed between them; although, outwardly, each assumed to be gratified at making the other’s acquaintance. But Colonel Dacre was too agitated to be able to keep up this farce long, and, pleading business, left the two together. But instead of going on to the station, according to his original intention, he returned to the inn, and took possession once more of the little parlor he had occupied the day before.
He cursed his own folly bitterly; but even if this woman destroyed him, he could not tear himself away from her now. The very air she breathed was sweet to him, and yet, poor deluded mortal, he had fancied it possible to escape from her toils.
That day passed like a dream. In comparison with the agitated ones that followed it seemed so vague and colorless to Colonel Dacre, that it slipped from his memory later as if it had never been.
He saw no sign of Lady Gwendolyn again, and the Grange windows did not betray her presence. At dusk he ventured out for a stroll, and mechanically—guided by fate, no doubt—he crossed the stile that led into Turoy Wood—a pretty shaded walk in the sunny part of the day, but almost dark now.
He walked on steadily for about half an hour, finding it a relief from the worry of his thoughts to be moving, and minding little where he went.