“I am glad you have come,” he said, as he held Esmeralda’s hand. Then he went and looked after the heavy baggage, also paid the excess, which was inevitable, and presently joined them in the first-class carriage which he had engaged.
Esmeralda had not left London since her arrival there with Mr. Pinchook, and the thought of leaving its smoky atmosphere filled her with delight. As they left the grimy town she looked from her window with eager pleasure, and when the green fields took the place of the crowded streets, she drew a long breath, and exclaimed:
“The country at last!”
Trafford arranged the blind for her so that she could look out without getting the glare of the sun in her eyes, and when, presently, she took off her hat, still gazing out of the window, he took it from her and carefully placed it upon the rack above. His attention was peculiar in its character, and was more marked than it would have been if he had loved her. It seemed to him that he would owe her so much, if she consented to be his wife, seeing that he could not give her what was her due—his heart. She appeared to forget her companions, and was quite absorbed in the scenery which they passed, every now and then uttering an exclamation of wonder and delight, as some object strange to her colonial experience caught her attention. Lady Wyndover and Trafford watched her as people watch a wayward but very precious child; and with Lady Wyndover’s affection was mingled no little respect for Esmeralda’s coming rank, for, notwithstanding Esmeralda’s repeated assertion, Lady Wyndover insisted upon regarding the engagement as an accomplished fact.
A few days ago she would have told Esmeralda that ladies do not remove their hats in the train, but she felt that the future Duchess of Belfayre could commit any solecism with impunity. Trafford took up a book and tried to read, but his eyes were drawn from a rather dull page to the lovely face in front of him, and he caught himself asking, of course, inaudibly, whether she would come to care for him.
At the end of the journey, which had seemed terribly long to Lady Wyndover, but very short to Esmeralda, they found the chariot and the footman awaiting them, and the usual fuss ensued; if anything, it was more marked than usual. Trafford did not walk this time, but rode in the carriage with the ladies, and, as they passed along, pointed out the various points of local interest, and was rewarded by Esmeralda’s exclamation of delight at her first glimpse of the sea.
“Oh, it is beautiful, beautiful!” she cried. “And it is all in such order, like a big garden. And why do all the people touch their hats, and bob down to the ground as we pass?”
Trafford smiled.
“It’s a habit they have,” he said. “They don’t mean to be servile; in fact, they’re rather an independent crew, but they just do it out of politeness, and because they have known us all their lives.”