She was frank, honest; but she was not cordial; scarcely even kind. When Mrs. Brander pressed her hand again, however, she returned the pressure with a firm clasp. Then, still without a glance at Vernon, she bowed and wished the vicar’s wife “good-morning,” and, turning, resumed her walk towards Matherham. She had not gone many yards before she quickened her pace still more, hearing footsteps she recognized behind, and then beside her.
It was Vernon Brander.
For some time he walked on in silence by her side, not daring to address her. At last he said, humbly, imploringly—
“Won’t you speak to me?”
No answer.
“Have you forgotten all you once said to me about friendship?”
“No,” she answered in a frightened, constrained voice, still without looking at him.
“Remember, what you saw last night was no worse than what you already believed.”
“Yes it was!” panted Olivia. “It was worse; much worse—to see—to hear. It was something I shall never forget. But don’t let us speak of it.”
“But is it to make this difference, that you will never speak to me again?”