He walked towards the clustered trees.
CHAPTER XXII
Piqued by the uneventfulness of the preceding day, May Tomalin stole forth this morning in a decidedly adventurous frame of mind. She scorned danger; she desired excitement. Duplicity on her part was no more than Lord Dymchurch merited after that deliberate neglect of opportunity under the great tree. Of course nothing irrevocable must come to pass; it was the duty of man to commit himself, the privilege of woman to guard an ambiguous freedom. But, within certain limits, she counted on dramatic incidents. A brisk answer to her tap on the door in the park wall made her nerves thrill delightfully. No sooner had she turned the key than the door was impatiently pushed open from without.
"Quick!" sounded Lashmar's voice. "I hear wheels on the road.—Ha! Just in time! It might be someone who would recognise me."
He had grasped May's hand. He was gazing eagerly, amorously into her face. His emotions had matured since the meeting two days ago.
"Tell me all the news," he went on. "Is Dymchurch here?"
"Yes. And the others. You come to lunch to-day, of course? You will see them."
She recovered her hand, though not without a little struggle, which pleased her. For all her academic modernism, May belonged to the class which has primitive traditions, unsophisticated instincts.
"And what has happened?" asked Dyce, advancing as she stepped back. He spoke like one who has a right to the fullest information.