Even in her thoughts Alice could scarcely bring herself to finish the sentence. That Arkwright should ever suspect for a moment that she cared for him was intolerable. Painfully conscious as she was that she did care for him, it was easy to fear that others must be conscious of it, too. Had she not already proof that Billy suspected it? Why, then, might not it be quite possible, even probable, that Arkwright suspected it, also; and, because he did suspect it, had decided that it would be just as well, perhaps, if he did not call so often.
In spite of Alice's angry insistence to herself that, after all, this could not be the case—that the man knew she understood he still loved Billy—she could not help fearing, in the face of Arkwright's unusual absence, that it might yet be true. When, therefore, he finally did appear, only to become at once obviously embarrassed in her presence, her fears instantly became convictions. It was true, then. The man did believe she cared for him, and he had been trying to teach her—to save her.
To teach her! To save her, indeed! Very well, he should see! And forthwith, from that moment, Alice Greggory's chief reason for living became to prove to Mr. M. J. Arkwright that he needed not to teach her, to save her, nor yet to sympathize with her.
“How do you do?” she greeted him, with a particularly bright smile. “I'm sure I hope you are well, such a beautiful day as this.”
“Oh, yes, I'm well, I suppose. Still, I have felt better in my life,” smiled Arkwright, with some constraint.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” murmured the girl, striving so hard to speak with impersonal unconcern that she did not notice the inaptness of her reply.
“Eh? Sorry I've felt better, are you?” retorted Arkwright, with nervous humor. Then, because he was embarrassed, he said the one thing he had meant not to say: “Don't you think I'm quite a stranger? It's been some time since I've been here.”
Alice, smarting under the sting of what she judged to be the only possible cause for his embarrassment, leaped to this new opportunity to show her lack of interest.
“Oh, has it?” she murmured carelessly. “Well, I don't know but it has, now that I come to think of it.”
Arkwright frowned gloomily. A week ago he would have tossed back a laughingly aggrieved remark as to her unflattering indifference to his presence. Now he was in no mood for such joking. It was too serious a matter with him.