"'The old man's got a touch of the gout, so I was taking a look round.' (Then before I could think of anything further to say his thought flashed through me.) 'Damn the fellow! I wish he would go. The girl's bound to turn up soon, and I don't want him fooling round.'
"'I must be going,' I said, looking at my watch. 'No doubt we shall meet again before long.'
"He seemed relieved, and saying that he should look me up, held out his hand. I took it, thanking God I had not a gun, and being now certain that I was in love, went hurriedly on my way.
"I had been walking for perhaps ten minutes, when I saw Vera Soudin coming towards me. She had evidently been to the village. What was to be done? I had promised not to see her for a week, but it would be ridiculous to pass without speaking. Besides, ought she not to be put on her guard against Lord Vancome? And yet what right had I to do this? As far as I knew there was nothing against his character. It is true that I felt a mortal antipathy to him, but such feelings are hardly regarded as evidence. Then I remembered that women are credited with possessing far more accurate discrimination of character than men. This thought comforted me, and having decided to discover her feelings with regard to Vancome I went on towards her.
"When we met I noticed that she also felt embarrassed, but for some reason possessed better control over herself. When I made some remark about being so pleased to see her again, she put her hand to her lips, and then, taking out a pocket-book, scribbled these words down--
"'I promised not to speak to you for a week.' 'But good gracious!' she cried out, 'I also said I would not write, and now I have done both. Well, as it is done, it can't be helped. But mind you don't tell, or father would be angry, and you know it was all your fault.'
"'I did not know, dear, that you had promised,' I replied, 'and though I also said I would not see you during the same time, it seemed absurd to pass without speaking.'
"'Of course it's absurd, and father's no right to make us promise such foolish things. But I don't mind, for we need not say anything about it. Besides, as we have broken our promises it does not now matter what we do.'
"'But,' I said, 'will it be right to go on breaking them further?'
"'Oh! what is done can't be mended.' And as she said this she looked into my face with such a pathetic appeal that all ideas of right, wrong, honour and dishonour got hopelessly mixed. 'You don't really love me,' she continued, 'or you would not talk like that. You don't care how wretched I feel!'