On second thoughts, Claverton was rather glad. He would be more the master of his own movements if alone, and would be able to return as soon as possible, whereas, at the ordinary regulation speed, the undertaking would carry him through the whole day.
“Have you far to go?” asked Lilian, as after breakfast he sat buckling on his spurs in the passage.
“Yes; it’s a good way. I may not be back till nearly dark,” he answered, ruefully, taking down his riding-crop from the peg. “But to-day I’m going to imagine myself riding another fellow’s horse with my own spurs. I may as well be off, there’s that little chatterbox, Gertie, bearing down upon us. Good-bye.”
He mounted and rode off in a very discontented frame of mind. What did he care if any one made him a present of the whole continent of Africa, if he were not to win her? The days were so precious and so few now, and here he was throwing away a whole one for the sake of a wretched “bargain.” He wouldn’t go—he would let the thing slide—he would turn back. And his face, as he rode, wore an aspect of troubled preoccupation.
Turning from the door, Lilian encountered Gertie Wray in the passage.
“Oh, there you are, Lilian,” exclaimed that volatile young lady. “I was just coming to look for you. Do come and teach me that lovely song you promised to, last night. We shall have it all to ourselves. Ethel and Laura are fixed for the morning with Mrs Brathwaite, making dresses or something.”
“Very well, dear,” assented Lilian, always ready to oblige others. She was not feeling inclined just then to sit hammering out accompaniments for a not very apt learner to murder a song to; but self came second with her. So she did her best to instil the desired accompaniment into the other’s understanding; but in about half an hour her pupil got tired of it.
“I think I shall sit indoors and read,” said Gertie. “It’s too hot to go out.”
“Is it? I like the heat,” said Lilian. “I think I shall go for one of what you call my ‘somnambulisms.’”
“And a very good name for them,” laughed the other. “To see you walking along, so still and stately, any one would think you were walking in your sleep, but that your eyes are open. Well, go for your ‘somnambulism,’ my peerless Lilian, only don’t get too much in the sun or you’ll get freckles,” and the speaker nestled down comfortably in a chair in a cool corner to while away the morning over a novel.