“That—” “And more,” was on his lips, when he succeeded in turning it into, “That I think you know.”
“The only one, then, that I have here. Try to make them feel more forgivingly. Once, I know, you felt as they do; now, if my heart is to be trusted, you are kinder. After—what has past, it hurts to be so harshly judged. Please be on my side.”
Pride, worldliness had all vanished. She spoke like a child, and looked at him beseechingly—so beseechingly that his heart rose in a wild clamour of desire to take her into his arms. The force with which he had to hold back this desire left him staring stupidly, only able to stammer out—
“You need not ask me!”
Perhaps Anne read the turmoil in his face, for her eyes smiled at him, but the next moment she turned away, and walked on silently. When she spoke it was to say—
“Here is the lodge, and your labour ended.”
“I can’t leave you till we reach the house.”
“Oh, very well.” Her tone was indifferent, but presently she put an unexpected question—“You remember Lord Milborough?”
“Certainly,” said Wareham, wondering what he was to hear.
“He hopes you will come to Thorpe next month, when he has some big shoots.”