But the impression she had made upon him was so strong, deepened, no doubt, by the circumstances in which she was placed, and also, perhaps, by her resolute attitude which was neither coquetry nor prudery, but simply pride, that he could scarcely think of anything for the next few days but the pale oval face and the big brown eyes, alternately gay and grave, and the soft voice that was different from the voices of other girls.
He went to the Aldingtons assiduously after that, always hoping to meet Miss Davison again. But each time he was disappointed, and at last he grew ashamed of calling so often, and of being so dull when he was there, and absented himself for a couple of months from the old-fashioned Bayswater house and its gay circle.
Then he called again, but only to hear that nothing had been seen or heard of the Davisons for some time. At last, six months after his meeting with Rachel, and while the remembrance of her face, her voice, and her quietly outspoken opinions was still fresh upon him, Gerard met Arthur Aldington one day in the Strand and was at once reproached for neglecting them.
Gerard made excuses, and asked after Miss Davison.
Arthur’s face changed.
“I don’t know what’s happened to them,” said he, with a perplexed look. “I haven’t seen anything of any of them till a day or two ago. And then”.... He checked himself, and said, “You were quite gone on Rachel, weren’t you?”
“I admired her immensely,” said Gerard. “I wanted to see her again, but she wouldn’t let me call; said her mother didn’t like receiving people in a cottage, after the sort of life she’d been used to.”
Arthur smiled.
“Oh, that was all rot,” said he simply. “Mrs. Davison is the most fluffy, gentle old lady in the world. It was Rachel who was ashamed of their simple way of living, always Rachel. She twists her mother and sister round her little finger, and she could have had the entire population of London to call if she’d chosen.”
Gerard looked hurt.