We were following Mrs Wilson from the room. As we passed the hall-door, we peeped in.
‘Do you like such great high places?’ asked Clara.
‘Yes, I do,’ I answered. ‘I like great high places. It makes you gasp somehow.’
‘Are you fond of gasping? Does it do you good?’ she asked, with a mock-simplicity which might be humour or something not so pleasant.
‘Yes, I think it does,’ I answered. ‘It pleases me.’
‘I don’t like it. I like a quiet snug place like the library—not a great wide place like this, that looks as if it had swallowed you and didn’t know it.’
‘What a clever creature she is!’ I thought. We turned away and followed Mrs Wilson again.
I had expected to spend the rest of the day with her, but the moment we reached her apartment, she got out a bottle of her home-made wine and some cake, saying it was time for me to go home. I was much disappointed—the more that the pretty Clara remained behind; but what could I do? I strolled back to Aldwick with my head fuller than ever of fancies new and old. But Mrs Wilson had said nothing of going to see her again, and without an invitation I could not venture to revisit the Hall.
In pondering over the events of the day, I gave the man I had met in the wood a full share in my meditations.