A bend in the gravel walk brought the gates into the wood within view. Miss Wraxton was standing by them, and it was plain to the meanest intelligence that she was in no very amiable humor. Behind her, seated upon a bank, and absorbed in metrical composition, was Mr. Fawnhope, to all appearances divorced from the world. As Mr. Rivenhall fitted the key into the lock, Sophy said, “I am so sorry! It is all the fault of Sancia’s absurd terrors! Are you very bored and chilled, Miss Wraxton?”
Miss Wraxton had endured a trying half hour. Upon finding herself shut into the wood, she had first asked Mr. Fawnhope if he could not climb over the fence, and when he had replied, quite simply, that he could not, she had requested him to shout. But the ode that was burgeoning in his head had by this time taken possession of him, and he had said that the sylvan setting was just the inspiration he needed. After that, he sat down on the bank and drew out his notebook and a pencil, and whenever she begged him to bestir himself to procure her release, all he said, and that in a voice that showed how far away were his thoughts, was “hush!” Consequently she was in a mood ripe for murder when the rescue party at last arrived on the scene and was betrayed into an unwise accusation. “You did this!” she flung at Sophy, quite white with anger.
Sophy, who felt sorry for her being discovered in so ridiculous a situation, replied soothingly, “No, it was a foolish servant, who thought we had all gone back to the house. Never mind! Come and drink some of Sancia’s excellent tea!”
“I don’t believe you! You are unprincipled and vulgar and — ”
“Eugenia!” said Mr. Rivenhall sharply. She gave an angry sob, but said no more. Sophy went into the wood to rouse Mr. Fawnhope from his abstraction, and Mr. Rivenhall said: “It was nothing but an accident, and there is no need to be so put out.”
“I am persuaded your cousin did it to make me a laughing stock,” she said in a low voice.
“Nonsense!” he replied coldly.
She saw that he was by no means in sympathy with her, and said, “I need hardly tell you that my aim was to prevent your sister spending the whole afternoon in that odious young man’s company.”
“With the result that she spent it in Talgarth’s company,” he retorted. “There was no reason for you to be so busy, Eugenia. My mother’s presence, not to mention my own, made your action — I shall say unnecessary!”
It might have been supposed that these words of censure filled Miss Wraxton’s cup to the brim, but upon entering the drawing room she found that she had still to endure the Marquesa’s comments. The Marquesa favored the company with a disquisition on the license allowed to young English ladies, contrasting it with the strict chaperonage of Spanish damsels, and everyone with the exception of Mr. Rivenhall, who was markedly silent, felt for Miss Wraxton in her chagrin and made great efforts to placate her, Sophy going so far as to give up her place in the curricle to her on the homeward journey. She was insensibly mollified, but when, later, she tried to justify her actions to her betrothed, he cut her short, saying too much noise had been made already over a trivial occurrence.