“There is likely to be little enough blessing about the business,” she answered; then added, touched by compunction: “You had best leave it alone, Mr. Rock; it is wicked and wrong from beginning to end, and you know that I don’t love you, nor ever shall, and the reasons why I consent to take you. Be wise and have done with me, and find some other woman who has no such history who will care for you and make you a good wife.”
‘Samuel picked up the book, and swore… at her dictation.’
“No, Joan; you have promised to do that much when the time comes, and I believe you. No other woman could make up to me for the loss of you, not if she were an angel.”
“So be it, then,” she answered; “but do not blame me if you are unhappy afterwards, for I have warned you, and however much I may try to do my duty, it can’t make up to a man for the want of love. And now, when is it to be?”
“You said whenever I liked, Joan, and I say the sooner we are married the sooner the year of waiting will be over. If it can be done, to-morrow or the next day, as I think for you have been living a long while in this parish I will go and make arrangements and come to tell you.”
“Don’t do that, Mr. Rock, as I can’t talk any more to-day. Send me a telegram. And now good-bye: I want to rest.”
He waited for her to offer him her hand, but she did not do so. Then he turned and went, walking so softly that until she heard the front door close Mrs. Bird was unaware that he had left the room above. Throwing down her work she ran upstairs, for her curiosity would not allow her to delay. Joan was seated on the sofa staring out of the window, with wide-opened eyes and a face so set that it might have been cut in stone.
“Well, my dear,” said the little woman, “so you have seen Sir Henry, and I hope that you have arranged everything satisfactorily?”