It was said jestingly, but Nancy felt piqued.
‘Certainly not. I am quite independent.’
‘So I should have supposed. Then why not come?’
He seemed perfectly self-possessed, but the voice was not quite his own. To Nancy, her eyes still looking straight forward, it sounded as though from a distance; it had an effect upon her nerves similar to that she had experienced three days ago, when they were walking about the pier. Her hands fell idly; she leaned back more heavily on the seat; a weight was on her tongue.
‘A country ramble of an hour or two,’ pursued the voice, which itself had become languorous. ‘Surely you are sometimes alone? It isn’t necessary to give a detailed account of your time?’
She answered impatiently. ‘Of course not.’ In this moment her thoughts had turned to Luckworth Crewe, and she was asking herself why this invitation of Tarrant’s affected her so very differently from anything she had felt when Crewe begged her to meet him in London. With him she could go anywhere, enjoying a genuine independence, a complete self-confidence, thinking her unconventional behaviour merely good fun. Tarrant’s proposal startled her. She was not mistress of the situation, as when trifling with Crewe. A sense of peril caused her heart to beat quickly.
‘This afternoon, then,’ the voice was murmuring.
She answered mechanically. ‘It’s going to rain, I think.’
‘I think not. But, if so, to-morrow.’
‘To-morrow is Sunday.’