“If I do as you wish, will you promise not to trouble me, or interfere with me, or to speak to me about this kind of thing in the meanwhile?” she asked.
“Yes; I swear that I will not.”
“Very good: have your own way about it, Mr. Rock; but understand that I do not mean to encourage you by this, and I don’t think it likely that my answer six months hence will be any different from what it is to-day.”
“I understand, Joan.”
“Very well, then: good-bye.” And she held out her hand.
He took it, and, overmastered by a sudden impulse, pressed it to his lips and kissed it twice or thrice.
“Leave go,” she said, wrenching herself free. “Is that the way you keep your promise?”
“I beg your pardon,” he answered humbly. “I could not help it—Heaven knows that I could not help it. I will not break my word again.” And he turned and left her, walking through the grass of the graves with a slow and somewhat feline step.
At last he was gone, and Joan sat down once more, with a gasp of relief. Her first feelings were those of exultation at being rid of Mr. Rock; but they did not endure. Would he keep his promise, she wondered, and hide from her aunt the fact that he had proposed and been rejected? If he did not, one thing was clear to her,—that she would be forced to fly from Bradmouth, since by many a hint she knew well that it was expected of her that she should marry Samuel Rock, who was considered to have honoured her greatly by his attentions. This, in view of their relative social positions in the small society of Bradmouth, was not wonderful; but Joan’s pride revolted at the thought.
“After all,” she said aloud, “how is he so much higher than I am? and why should my aunt always speak of him as though he were a king and I a beggar girl? My blood is as good as his, and better,” and she glanced at a row of ancient tombstones, whereof the tops were visible above the herbage of rank grass, yellow crowsfoot, and sheep’s parsley still white with bloom, that marked the resting-places of the Lacons.