“I’ll say—what shall I say?—I’ll ask what Mrs Tempest is doing with herself this afternoon.”
“That will do perfectly, and I can easily bring in my letter.”
Anne saw that she had provided her young adorer with a problem which would occupy her thoughts throughout her part of the walk. To have something to do for Miss Dalrymple, and to do it intelligently! On the stairs they met Mrs Martyn.
“Going out in this weather! Well, perhaps you are right, perhaps I’ll come myself.”
“I am not in the humour for waiting,” Anne said. “It is now or never.”
“But I should not be long.”
“Too long. Come, Mary.”
Mrs Martyn was left reflecting, and suspecting a purpose. From no window, unfortunately, could she command the four sides of the house. She flew to her own, and stood glued to the pane. Nothing met her sight, but the dreariness of grey rain corroborated her suspicions, since she was sure that to walk through it with only Mary Tempest as a companion would have no attractions for Anne. Looking at last brought its reward. Three small figures emerged on a path; two she knew, the other she recognised by the ulster to be Wareham, and promptly admired her own powers of intuition.
“I knew it, of course I knew it, if only by Anne’s manner!” she cried, and meditated upon the nature of woman as exemplified by Anne. With everything she could wish for in the world at her feet, she perceived that she wanted more, and would not be content unless Wareham walked behind to grace her triumph. More than this her friend would have laughed at, but so far she decided upon with easy security. Wareham offered a greater puzzle. She had been certain, petulantly certain, of his liking for Anne, and had drawn a rather spiteful amusement from the awkwardness of his position as Hugh’s friend. Had he changed? She had kept him well under a microscope since he had been at Thorpe, and minute observations had on the whole confirmed her first opinion. Yet he had not to all appearances advanced one jot in his wooing. Why? Why not, now that his road was open? And if resolved against it, why was he here? Why, above all, was he walking in the park with Anne? As for Mary, Mrs Martyn tossed her to the winds. “The girl will be sent home, of course,” and when half-an-hour later she beheld her whisk across the hall she again appreciated her own acuteness.
Wareham, blind man, permitted himself blissful thrills of delight. The fact that Anne had asked him to accompany them counted for much. He had the charm of her society, the defence of a third person. A few days now would end his ordeal, and happy the augury of this kindness! Strangely, perhaps, Lord Milborough’s evident admiration troubled him little. Fear did not easily touch him, except the lately born fear that he might be caught by dishonour, and the time for this was almost passed. It did not require vanity to perceive that Anne encouraged him; and his mind, once possessed with the idea, went straightforwardly to the end to which happy paths lead.