“No!” Stephen Hurd answered fiercely.
Macheson’s hand fell to his side.
“I am sorry,” he said.
“You will reconsider that, Mr. Hurd,” Wilhelmina said quietly.
“No!” he answered. “I am sorry, Miss Thorpe-Hatton, to seem ungracious, but there are reasons why I cannot accept his hand. He knows them well enough. We cannot possibly be friends. Don’t let us be hypocrites.”
Wilhelmina turned away coldly.
“Very well,” she said. “Mr. Macheson, will you walk with me a little way? I have something to say to you.”
“With pleasure,” he answered. “I’m sorry, Hurd,” he added, turning round.
There was no answer. Together they walked up the village street. Already the shock of seeing her had passed away, and he was fighting hard against the gladness which possessed him. He had paid dearly enough already for his folly. He was determined that there should be no return of it.
“Which way were you going?” she asked.