[CHAPTER XI—VANE WITHDRAWS.]
Dusk was drawing on when Vane strolled along the terrace in front of the Dene.
He was preoccupied and eager, but fully aware of the need for coolness, because it was very possible that he might fail in the task he had in hand. By and by he saw Evelyn, whom he had been waiting for, cross the opposite end of the terrace, and moving forward he joined her at the entrance to a shrubbery walk. A big, clipped yew with a recess in which a seat had been placed stood close by.
“I’ve been sitting with Mopsy,” said Evelyn. “She seems very little the worse for her adventure—thanks to you.” She hesitated, and her voice grew softer. “I owe you a heavy debt—I am very fond of Mopsy.”
“It’s a great pity she fell in,” Vane declared.
Evelyn looked at him with surprise. She scarcely thought he could regret the efforts he had made on her sister’s behalf, but that was what his words implied.
“The trouble is that the thing might seem to give me some claim on you, and I don’t want that,” he explained. “It cost me no more than a wetting; I hadn’t the least difficulty in getting her out.”
His companion was still puzzled. She could find no fault with him for being modest about his exploit, but that he should make it clear that he did not require her gratitude seemed to her unnecessary.
“For all that, you did bring her out,” she persisted.
“I don’t seem to be beginning very fortunately,” Vane replied. “What I mean is, that I don’t want to urge my claim, if I have one. I’d sooner be taken on my merits.” He paused a moment with a smile. “That’s not much better, is it? But it partly expresses what I feel. Leaving Mopsy out altogether, let me try to explain—I don’t wish you to be influenced by anything except your own idea of me. I’m saying this because one or two points that seem in my favour may have a contrary effect.”