It seemed to Freda that an expression of disappointment crossed Mr. Thurley’s face when she made no answer to this, and the next moment he seemed suddenly in a great hurry to be off. Shaking her hand heartily in both his, he uttered a number of good wishes, and questions about her welfare with a bluff sincerity of interest which touched her. She watched him as he went down the steep churchyard without one look behind him, and the tears came into her eyes as she felt that here was a friend, none the less real for being a new acquaintance, going away.
Freda felt almost like a prisoner coming of his own accord back to the confinement from which he had escaped, as she pulled the lodge-bell and passed through the iron gates. Mrs. Bean, who was probably on the lookout, heard the loud clang, and was ready to open the inner gate. She did not seem in very good humour.
“You have been a long time talking with your gentleman friend,” she said coldly. “I didn’t know those were convent manners, to encourage every man who chooses to cast sheep’s-eyes at one!”
Poor Freda entered the dining-room thoroughly heart-sick and disgusted. Why did they say those coarse things to her, and about people she liked too! She felt so miserable that, instead of trying to eat, she sat down on the hearth-rug and cried, with her head on a chair.
Presently Crispin looked in at the window, and coming round to the door of the room, opened it and peeped in.
“What’s the matter?” asked he.
Freda sprang from the floor, but refused to give any other explanation than that she was tired, and had stood talking in the churchyard.
“Talking! Who to?”
“To the gentleman who was kind to me in the train. Mrs. Bean, doesn’t seem to think it was right of me to talk to him; but he was very kind.”
Crispin said nothing to this, but persuaded her to eat her dinner, waiting upon her himself. When she had finished, and he was making up the fire for her, she suddenly addressed him.