He thrust her basket into her hand, and turned from her.
A moment he stood as if to give her the opportunity of detaining him if she so desired, and then as she made no sign he went to his horse who waited a couple of yards away, mounted, and without word or salute rode away.
Avery drew a deep, deep breath and walked on. There was a curious sensation at her heart—almost a trapped feeling—such as she had never before experienced. Again deeply she drew her breath, as if to rid herself of some oppression. Life was difficult—life was difficult!
But presently, as she walked, the sense of oppression lessened. She even faintly smiled to herself. What an odd, passionate youth he was! It was impossible to be angry with him; better far not to take him seriously at all.
She recalled old Mrs. Marshall's dour remarks concerning him;—"brought up by men from his cradle," brought up, moreover, by that terrible old Sir Beverley on the one hand and an irresponsible French valet on the other. She caught herself wishing that she had had the upbringing of him, and smiled again. There was a great deal of sweetness in his nature; of that she was sure, and because of it she found she could forgive his waywardness, reflecting that he had probably been mismanaged from his earliest infancy.
At this point she reached the high-road, and heard the wheels of a dog-cart behind her. She recognized the quick, hard trot of the doctor's cob, and paused at the side of the road to let him pass. But the doctor's eyes behind their glasses were keen as a hawk's. He recognized her, the deepening dusk notwithstanding, while he was still some yards from her, and pulled in his horse to a walk.
"Jump up!" he said. "I'm going your way."
He reached down a hand to her, and Avery mounted beside him. "How lucky for me!" she said.
"Tired, eh?" he questioned.
She laughed a little. "Oh no, not really. But it's nice to get a lift.
Were you coming to see Jeanie?"