But Maud made no such sign. She stood motionless. Without looking at him she spoke.
"I can't pretend to love you. You see,--I don't."
He made a sharp gesture--such a gesture as a man might make if stabbed in the back. A very bitter look came into his eyes. It was as if an evil spirit looked gibing forth. They glittered like the red flare of a torch.
"All right, my girl," he said, and his voice was soft and slow and wholly without emotion. "Then I continue my meal of husks."
With the words he let her go, took up his pipe from the table, and left her. Mutely she watched him go. Then, as the sound of his footsteps died away, she sank on her knees by the table, burying her face upon the scorched and ruined flowers; and so she remained for a long, long time.
Even the sympathy of Chops was lacking. He had followed his master and the dog-cart to the station to welcome the visitor for whom such loving preparations had been made. And he was being compelled to fly like the wild to keep pace with the flying wheels.
CHAPTER II
THE POISON PLANT
The wheels of the dog-cart clattered back over the stone paving of the yard, and a wild whoop of welcome echoed through the place. A small, boyish figure leapt impetuously to the ground to be caught and fast held in Maud's straining arms.
"Hullo, Maud! Hullo, Maud!" cried Bunny.