“I thought it was that tipsy man!” she whispered, shuddering.
“The clumsy brute didn’t hurt you, my darling, did he, when he ran up against you? I would have punched his head——”
“No, no, no!” she cried, clinging to him again, in fear of his returning. “He didn’t hurt me at all; he scarcely touched me. But I thought it was he who was running after me, and I was frightened.”
“That is all because you were a silly girl and were too proud to let me see you home. It is a ‘judgment.’ Why, you are shaking all over still! I didn’t think you were such a little coward!”
He soothed her tenderly, with a very happy remembrance of her delight in recognizing him, and of the impulsive closing of the little hands on his arm. He began to think that repulse of a few hours before might be differently construed; she could not have smiled up more than gratefully into his face as she was doing now if he had been repugnant to her. Other women might, but not Annie Langton.
And Aubrey was right. She had felt just what her face expressed, that the one person in the world whose presence inspired her with perfect confidence had suddenly appeared at the very moment when she dreaded the approach of the person she most feared to meet.
For, in the half tipsy man who had staggered down from Miss West’s door and reeled against her, Annie had instantly recognized her husband. He had not known her, he had scarcely seen her, for the little figure had flown past almost before he had recovered his balance; but in the first moment of terror, Annie imagined that he had seen, known, and was pursuing her.
She walked on with Aubrey very quietly, very silently, her hand on his arm and his hand on hers, listening to his gentle, playful scolding with a little laugh now and then, but without speaking much, satisfied that she was safe with him, and that she need not talk to show him that she felt so. When they came to her door, she disengaged her hand and held it out while bidding him “Good-night” with a smile that made Aubrey bold. He took her hand in his, passed his other arm round her, saying, in a quick, jerky whisper:
“Annie, you do—you will trust yourself to me, won’t you?”
There was no eloquence in his speech; but for once his light eyes spoke very plainly, his voice broke into tenderness. Annie trembled. Her eyes, as they met his, shone with a light he had never seen in them before. But before he could speak again, before he could draw her into his arms, the light had faded. She gave him one look so wildly, unutterably sad that he never forgot it; then, with bent head, she slipped gently out of the grasp of his arm and turned to the door. She could not see the lock, for the tears were gathering in her eyes. After a few moments, Aubrey, who had stood behind her without speaking, took the key from her shaking hand and opened the door for her.