“I wanted to go to Ashenfold,” said Hugh, “so we came back this way. We are rather idle this week.”
As he spoke, Hugh became aware of Rosa’s presence, by hearing Arthur greet her; and, after a momentary hesitation on both sides, they bowed, and he asked after Signor Mattei.
“My father is very well, thank you,” said Rosa, without an unnecessary word. Hugh stood like a shy boy in his first quadrille, trying to think of something that would do to say. Arthur had strolled away towards the primrose-pickers, and he decided that it would look too marked to walk on without him. At last he said: “Oh! Miss Venning, about that gas. I believe I shall get it arranged as you wish.”
“I always knew, Hugh, that no sensible person could see it in any other light,” said Miss Venning.
“I don’t think gas is injurious to human life,” said Hugh, looking round the wood. Rosa almost pitied him, he seemed so ill at ease. “The component parts—”
“Now, I am said to be fond of discussions,” said Flossy; “but, really, to talk chemically in this lovely wood is a shame.”
“Let us come, then, and look at the view and find Arthur,” said Hugh, relieved; “I ought to be going.”
Rosa would fain have followed, but Miss Venning, with a “You see, my dear,” entered on the subject of the gas-works, and the other two walked farther into the wood.
There were days when Hugh was sure that he ought not to marry Violante, there were many days when he thought that he did not wish to marry her; but now and then came a day when he dreamed of a future that might come when time should have softened the present troubles, and this day was one of them. He would not throw away this chance—at least, he would see her and hear her speak again. Suddenly the sound of her sweet unmistakable voice fell on his ear. They were coming over a piece of rising ground, and down below them sat Arthur and Violante on a fallen tree. She was tying the primroses into little bunches. The occupation and her light spring dress brought another sunny afternoon and other brighter-tinted flowers to Hugh’s mind. He could only see the top of Arthur’s hat; but her face was visible, raised in profile, tender and smiling, in the radiant sun. She was evidently answering a remark.
“Ah, then, do you ‘say die,’ so often?”