We must admit that she dealt kindly with him under considerable provocation to be unkind. Sensible of this, he showed his gratitude, almost too effusively. But he had wit enough not to praise his ladylove. The adjectives still rankled—pretty—good—amiable.
They rode into the stable-yard.
CHAPTER XIV
“Creep—crane—go canny!”
This policy was not to Lionel’s taste. Hamlin, too would abhor it, wax sour under it, suppress pride and wrath till they might break bonds and run amok. Under the suspense of waiting, Euphrosyne would languish.
But what else could be done?
The Fates, not Lionel, answered the insistent question.
Upon the Tuesday afternoon the Squire went a-fishing by himself, too perturbed of mind to seek any companion save that of his own thoughts. One thing—quite enough—he knew. The boy had not “gone for” Margot. None the less, they remained on easy, intimate terms with each other. But at dinner, after the hunt, Margot had spoken of leaving on the following Wednesday. The Squire was a stickler for keeping social engagements; such engagements were made, of course, by a young lady of quality many weeks ahead. Had he received from Lionel, over their wine, some intimation that all was well, he would have been quite satisfied. But why did the boy hold his tongue? What ailed him? Lady Pomfret was solemnly interrogated. Let her hazard some reasonable conjecture! She presented one, tentatively, placidly, and exasperatingly. The young people might wish to remain simply and enduringly—friends. The Squire was much ruffled, purged his mind drastically, dropped an oath, and apologised. He kept on repeating himself: “She wants him, I tell you. She was ripe for the pluckin’ a week ago. That my son should be a laggard——!” His wife consoled him with the assurance that no man could read a maid’s heart. “I read yours,” he affirmed. She smiled at him. He kissed her and went his way.
Lionel caught Joyce alone for a few blessed minutes. She had told the Parson.