Rhoda reddened. She was beginning to recover some of her lost self-possession.
“I am glad to be able to say that you look better, much better. I think your change must have done you a great deal of good.”
“Not the least doubt about it. Next winter, if all goes well, I think I shall take Caryl with me if I go away.”
“You are longing to see him. Will you go in without preparing him? or shall I tell him first?”
“Well, first I should like a little talk with you. Can you spare me five minutes?”
“Oh, yes.”
She turned, and they walked in silence along the winding path, bordered on one side by a well kept hedge which was as yet only faintly green. He looked better and happier too, Rhoda thought, than he had done in the old days at the Mill-house. Certainly he had then led such a life of anxiety on account of his wife’s caprices and Jack Rotherfield’s escapades that domestic tranquillity was out of the question.
As the silence continued, Rhoda presently stole a glance at Sir Robert, and found that he was looking at her intently.
“You have been very unfairly treated,” he said abruptly.
The blood rushed into her face.