Involuntarily, unconsciously, all their eyes follow his, to the trees in the Cottage grounds.
And there
‘All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth.’
A profound silence falls on the group. Captain Lennox, whose eyeglass is immovably fixed on something in the distance, is the first to break it.
‘Almost it does!’ says he, mimicking the poet’s lachrymose drawl to a nicety. But no one laughs; they are all too engrossed with what they see, peeping out shyly from between the branches of those trees below, that seem to belong to the Rectory, meeting them as they do, and mingling with them so closely that one loses memory of the road that runs between. ‘I feel as if I saw one now. How do you feel, Forster?’
Sir William laughs.
‘A charming Hamadryad beyond dispute,’ says he.
Charming indeed! Crowned by the leaves that hang above her head, Ella’s face is looking out at them like some lovely vision. Her face only can be seen, but that very distinctly. To her, unfortunately, it had seemed quite certain that she could not be seen at all. It was so far away, and they would be talking and thinking, and it was so hard to resist the desire to see them. Carew had insisted on her being asked to join their party, and Susan had begged and implored, but Ella had steadfastly refused to accept the invitation. And then Susan had remembered that strange minute or two during her luncheon at the Park, and the evident anxiety of Mr. Wyndham that Mrs. Prior should know nothing about Ella, and had refrained from further pressing.
Now again this uncertain certainty occurs to Susan, and she makes a little eager gesture, hoping that Ella will see her and take the hint and go away. But, alas! Ella is not looking at her, or at Carew, or anyone, except—strange to say—at Mrs. Prior.
There is an intensity in her gaze that even at such a distance Susan, who is eminently sympathetic, divines.