“Yes. Without him,”—Anne turned paler, she was perhaps more shaken than she knew.
“I suppose that you?”
“I,” said Wareham, deliberately uttering the last thing that he desired to say, “I was, as usual—too late.”
She looked at him inquiringly; their eyes met, naturally she expected more. His mouth grew rigid, under a sudden impression of his own weakness, when he had thought himself absolutely safe, and he added hurriedly—
“Do you see that gate? There we turn off.” Anne’s voice was a little colder than it had been.
“I have not apologised. I may be taking you out of your way. Are you staying in the neighbourhood?”
“At Firleigh.”
There was a momentary pause before she asked—
“And are we near Firleigh?”
“We are going to cut across part of it now.” He opened the gate as he spoke, and she walked by his side for some minutes in silence. Then she said—