Appleby rose, and Mrs. Wayne, who went out with him, turned to him in the hall.
“Are you staying any time at Darsley, Mr. Appleby?” she said. “We shall be pleased to see you.”
“It was good of you to permit me to come once, madame,” said Appleby. “It will be a week, at least, before I can get away, but I think a little reflection will convince you that it would be better if I did not come here again.”
Mrs. Wayne looked at him quietly. “There is no reason why you should not. You will, of course, understand that Violet told me Miss Harding’s story.”
Appleby did not remember what he answered, but he drove away with a curious feeling of content, and Mrs. Wayne went back to the room where her daughter sat very still in her chair. Stooping down she kissed her gently.
“Did it hurt very much, Violet?” she said.
The girl seemed to shiver. “No,” she said in a strained voice. “Not so much as I expected—in the way you mean. It was a splendid reparation Tony made.”
Mrs. Wayne laid her hand caressingly on her daughter’s hair. “You have told me very little, Violet—and people with your reserve find their troubles the harder to bear.”
For a moment or two the girl gazed at the fire. “Mother. I must talk at last. I have almost a horror of myself,” she said. “I was wickedly hard to Tony when Nettie Harding told me, and I felt very bitter against him when he went away. I could not overcome the feeling, though I tried—and now when I should ask it of him—he cannot forgive me.”
Mrs. Wayne did not appear altogether astonished. “And yet I think he understood that you would marry him when he came back.”