“Mr. Saton,” she said, “I have been hearing all sorts of wonderful things about your house. When are you going to ask us all to tea to see your curiosities?”
Saton looked into Rochester’s immovable face.
“Whenever you choose to come,” he answered calmly. “I am nearly always at home in the afternoon, or rather I shall be after next Thursday,” he added, as an afterthought. “I am going to town this evening.”
“Going away?” she asked, a little blankly.
“I have to go up to London,” he answered, “but it is only for two days.”
There was a short, uneasy silence. Rochester purposely avoided speech. He understood the situation exactly. They had something to say to one another, and wished him away.
“You won’t be able to send me that book, then?” she asked.
“I will leave it at the house this afternoon, if I may,” he answered, half looking toward Rochester.
Rochester made no sign. Saton raised his cap and passed on.
“Wonderful syringa bush, that,” Rochester remarked, pointing with his stick.