“Then go away, both of you, and leave me alone,” said Nettie faintly.
They turned away, and met Violet Wayne in the hall. She made a little gesture when she saw their faces, as though to warn them from any expression of sympathy.
“You will excuse me, Hester,” she said very quietly. “I think I would sooner walk home alone. I will not ask you to remember that what you heard concerns only Tony and me.”
Then she turned and left them, walking slowly, and holding herself very straight with an effort.
[XXI — TONY’S DECISION]
TONY PALLISER walked home to Northrop, and was glad when he reached it, for he found even the slight physical effort difficult. He felt half-dazed, and brushed past two of his tenants who greeted him on the road without recognizing them. He did not remember whether he offered any explanation as to why he had not remained at Low Wood, as he had purposed, but by and by he found himself sitting in Godfrey Palliser’s chair at the head of the great dinner-table. The big candles were lighted, for the evenings were drawing in, and as he vacantly noticed the glitter of the light on the glass and silver he remembered the opportunity that had been given him there. He had let it pass, and now another had spoken.
Still, as he strove to eat because he felt the servants’ eyes upon him it was the loneliness of the shadowy hall that most troubled him. He had noticed it often since Godfrey Palliser died, for Tony was not fond of his own company; but he had pictured Violet Wayne sitting opposite him then, and now it was borne in upon him that she would never smile at him across his table. As yet he scarcely realized the depth of his humiliation, for it was the result of it which must be faced, and not the thing itself that filled him with horror.
It was a relief when somebody took his plate away, and he went out with a cigar he did not remember lighting into the cool night air and flung himself down in a seat on the terrace. There was no moon in the sky, but the stars were clear, and—for the night was still—a chilly dampness settled on everything. He felt it pleasantly cold upon his skin, and lay still huddled limply in the garden chair, trying to realize the position, but found the attempt almost useless, for his thoughts had no cohesion. It was, however, evident that the love of the woman he desired could never be his. She had given him her promise, and he fancied that if he insisted she would redeem it, for he vaguely understood her sense of responsibility; but it was evident that he could not insist, and with the courage of desperation he nerved himself to face the fact that he must let her go. He could think of nothing else, for he was still bewildered by the blow, and could only realize what had been taken from him.
He did not know how long he lay there, but it was very late when he rose with a little shiver and went back into the hall, where he wrote a note.
“Tell John to ride over with that early to-morrow morning, and ask Miss Wayne for an answer,” he said to the servant, who wondered at his face, and then walked slowly with hopelessness in his very pose towards his room, where, as it happened, he slept heavily until late next morning.