She began to feel the position ludicrous. A walk of a mile with a man whom her impatience was ready to imagine had rejected her by his obstinate silence, was so hateful in anticipation that she would have been ready to bless Mary Tempest if she had brought a whole posse of spies upon them. Moreover, she foresaw that the weight of conversation would fall upon her, the woman, and therefore expected to keep conventionality in the front. Wet rhododendrons and dripping beech-trees suggested nothing beyond a passing remark, inane as it was safe. The dullness of Mary Tempest’s home-life lasted longer, in the midst of it she fancied a desperate “Anne!” was breathed in her ear, and quickened her steps. Her coldness now had reached the pitch of a shiver at her own foolishness; above all, she wished to avoid the promise of an explanation. Luckily for her, the heavy drops falling from the trees allowed her the shelter of an umbrella; she kept it at her ears, and shot flying remarks from underneath, careful to avoid any which took the form of questions. Her endeavours did not prevent an angry acknowledgment that if he had anything he burned to say, he would have said it.
They were near the end of the wood, and her heart sank at thought of the long stretch which still lay between it and the house, when, to her joy, she heard voices. The gate was reached simultaneously, she and Wareham on one side, the other Colonel and Mrs Martyn with Lord Milborough.
“Are you surprised to see us?” asked Mrs Martyn, serenely smiling at the situation, which she believed to be disconcerting to more than one. “I was at my window when you crossed the park, and as Lord Milborough and Tom came back long before they were expected, we all started forth in pursuit. Have you been far?”
The question was put to Wareham, and he answered it by saying that they had taken refuge from the rain in a house by the lake.
“Where we admired your provident hospitality,” Anne added, with a smile to Lord Milborough. “To be met by a cheery fire where one expected bare shelter, was such a delicious surprise, that I feel as if we ought to go back and do the honours to the owner.”
“Oh, no, no,” objected Mrs Martyn. “It is growing dark, and tea will be ready by this time.”
Colonel Martyn announced that he should give himself a stretch, as he wanted exercise.
“You won’t come, I suppose?” he said to Lord Milborough, who excused himself.
Mrs Martyn went on with Wareham, from whom she hoped to find out something; the other two followed, Lord Milborough’s face clearing like magic.
“Stop, and let those people go ahead,” he said.