He turned into the footpath across the fields, which saved a mile of hot, shelterless high road, and his face never relaxed its hard frown as he went over that terrible interview again. “Well, the old man and I opened our minds to one another with a refreshing candour, at any rate,” he said, half aloud.—“Hallo!”
He stood staring blankly, not quite certain whether he was dreaming or not. For there, as if she had started out of the earth itself, was Olive—Roy meanwhile leaping around her and thrusting his importunate nose into her hand, and otherwise claiming his meed of attention.
Roland paused for a moment, staggered. She was looking very lovely, in the neatest of cool walking-dresses, and the blood rose softly to the bewitching face as she met his astonished gaze. She had seen him long before he had caught sight of her, and half shyly, half mischievously had noted the effect of the surprise. But overhearing his last reflection, the glad look changed into one of concern.
“What has happened, dear?” she began.
Instead of immediately replying he gave a couple of quick looks around, and—a few seconds afterwards Olive was readjusting a somewhat displaced hat, a soft, bright blush suffusing her face.
“There! I feel better now?” cried he who had treated her so unceremoniously, speaking with quick vehemence. “What has happened? Squalls—breakers—high seas—everything. To put it tersely, my venerable ancestor and I have been exchanging opinions of each other in terms far more forcible than polite.” But Olive looked very grave.
“Oh, Roland. Was it about—about—I mean anything to do with ourselves?”
“H’m! H’m! Well, as to that, it was about things in general. But don’t distress yourself, darling. It was bound to come sooner or later, and for some time past the South Cone has been hoisted on that particular coast. And now we have agreed to keep carefully out of each other’s way henceforth.”
“But you’ll make it up again, dear. People get in a rage with each other and quarrel, but it doesn’t last for ever. It would be awful if it did.”
“But this will. Olive, you don’t know him, and I’m afraid, darling, you don’t half know me. He would have to sing very abjectly small indeed, before I could forgive what he said—certainly no consideration of loss or gain would induce me to do so. So here I stand—as here I came—nobody.”