“It’s a good day for a walk after the rain,” said Mr Warren, in his turn.
They were awkward little explanations, or might have been, if Anthony had been bent on another errand. As it was, after a momentary wrath at the man’s impudence, his strongest sensation was that of discomfort at Ada’s mark of affection. That they should be walking arm in arm towards her house was not the preamble he would have chosen to that which he had to say. Otherwise, it did not seem to him that he had any right to find fault with her. And he was too generous to admit the thought that he might use her own conduct as a weapon against her in the coming interview. He did not say much, because many things were in his mind, but his silence did not arise, as Ada and Mr Warren imagined, from displeasure with them. Ada quickly recovered herself, and wished Mr Warren a careless good-by. As they passed the rectory they met Mrs Featherly coming towards them, presenting the soles of her feet very visibly as she walked.
“I understood you had a cold, Ada,” she said. “I am surprised to see you out in the damp.”
“Have you a cold?” asked Anthony, when they were alone.
“Yes—no—I had, but the fresh air has cured it, as I thought it would.”
“Then you would not mind staying out a little longer?”
He had thought, suddenly, that it would be easier for him to speak there than in her uncles house. Ada hesitated a little. Each had their own anxieties as to what was coming, and she was divided between dread of the conversation and a wish to keep her lover in a good-humour by yielding.
“It is getting late,” she said slowly.
“But it is not cold. Come to the edge of the canal, and see that Norwegian schooner unloading.”
“Very well,” Ada said, hoping to charm him by her acquiescence.