She longed to pour out her whole mind, to accuse him of his inconsistency, but his next remark awoke a fresh thrill of feeling within her.
"May I ask a favor, Miss Mildmay?" he said. "I would not have spoken of my trip but for that."
"A favor?" she said. "What is it?"
The reply sounded cruelly ungracious, but she could not trust herself to many words.
"My mother will feel lonely when I have started—though only for a time, perhaps—would you, in the kindness of your heart, and out of that womanly charity which is the glory of your sex, take in the Cedars sometimes in your walks and drives?"
Violet's face paled.
"I will, gladly, and for my own sake," she said. "If you go," she added.
He did not notice the addition.
"I am very grateful," he said, "very; and of her gratitude I need not assure you. Penruddie is a dull place, and dullness is bad for more than the 'weed on Lethe's wharf.'"