But there was neither. She remained quite still, without a sound but a short, quick sob that George was too far off to hear, and he could only see that she bent her head, without being able to catch the expression of her face. He watched a moment longer, then, with a curious look of cynical surprise, turned and sauntered back to the Grange.
But Harry was near enough to know better. He saw the color leave her cheeks and her very lips, and he knew that his impertinence had made her dumb and still with horror. Then the tears began to gather in her eyes; she stooped to feel blindly for the book she had dropped, then turned her back upon him without a word.
In a moment he was mad with remorse.
“Miss Lane!” said he huskily; but she took no notice, and began to walk away.
All his better instincts were aroused, and moved him to words less boorish than usual.
“Miss Lane,” he repeated, “I would give my right hand to undo my impertinence or to make you forget it! Upon my soul, you cannot hate me for it as much as I hate myself! Won’t you—won’t you just look at me? Only just let me see you look again as you looked before—even if you don’t speak. Good heavens, you look like stone!”
But she shook her head without looking up.
“Go away, please,” was all she said, in a voice from which the bright ring had gone.
Harry was sobbing himself.
“You—you are more cruel than I,” said he, unsteadily.