Meg was a little startled at such a summary proceeding; then she decided rapidly it was the only thing to be done at the juncture.
“Here!” she cried, “in her own bedroom.” She flung open the door, and he strode down the passage with his struggling burden in its dainty dress and sweet, crushed roses.
[191]
]They left her the light. There was a shelf of books to occupy her if so she liked, also her work-basket, with a fleecy cloud she was crocheting; she would be able to fill the time. But they locked the door very carefully, and took the key downstairs with them.
“You must have been exceedingly careless, Meg, to let her get to know them,” Pip said, with masculine inclination to locate blame.
Meg told of the introduction and subsequent meetings—how it seemed impossible to get the people to accept the frequent if delicately-conveyed hints that their acquaintance was not desired. She kept the tennis episode to herself, for she feared it would only make him more harsh and overbearing to Nellie, and do no good.
When they were separating some time later she looked wistfully up at him.
“Dear Pip, aren’t you ever going to forgive me?” she said; “can’t you see I only did it for your good? Do let us kiss and be friends again.”
He looked at her very coldly and sternly; the old bitter curve showed at his mouth.
“No,” he said, “I shall never forgive you while I live, Meg.” Then he turned and went out of the room.
Meg went upstairs, tired, dispirited. Tears smarted in her eyes from her rebuff. Nellie, she [192] ]knew, was thinking hard thoughts of her; Alan had not written to-day, for some reason or other; and all the world seemed wrong. She went into her room and sat down, with a sob and some splashing tears, in the dark by the window.