‘I’m much obliged to you,’ I returned. ‘I should enjoy seeing Mr Brotherton dance.’
She laughed again, but it was an oddly constrained laugh.
‘It’s quite time I were at home,’ she said, and gave the mare the rein, increasing her speed as we approached the house. Before I reached the little gate she had given her up to the gardener, who had been on the look-out for us.
‘Put on her own saddle, and bring the mare round at once, please,’ I called to the man, as he led her and the horse away together.
‘Won’t you come in, Wilfrid?’ said Clara, kindly and seriously.
‘No, thank you,’ I returned; for I was full of rage and jealousy. To do myself justice, however, mingled with these was pity that such a girl should be so easy with such a man. But I could not tell her what I knew of him. Even if I could have done so, I dared not; for the man who shows himself jealous must be readily believed capable of lying, or at least misrepresenting.
‘Then I must bid you good-evening,’ she said, as quietly as if we had been together only five minutes. ‘I am so much obliged to you for letting me ride your mare!’
She gave me a half-friendly, half-stately little bow, and walked into the house. In a few moments the gardener returned with the mare, and I mounted and rode home in anything but a pleasant mood. Having stabled her, I roamed about the fields till it was dark, thinking for the first time in my life I preferred woods to open grass. When I went in at length I did my best to behave as if nothing had happened. My uncle must, however, have seen that something was amiss, but he took no notice, for he never forced or even led up to confidences. I retired early to bed, and passed an hour or two of wretchedness, thinking over everything that had happened—-the one moment calling her a coquette, and the next ransacking a fresh corner of my brain to find fresh excuse for her. At length I was able to arrive at the conclusion that I did not understand her, and having given in so far, I soon fell asleep.