"Go for him!" echoed Mrs. Creddle. "Not he. He only wanted to get away and not have a scandal in the place."
"I don't believe that," said Caroline. "Uncle can say what he likes, but I don't believe that."
"It's true, my lass," said Mrs. Creddle kindly. "I ran along to tell you now, for fear you should come across Wilson or your uncle before you knew. He promised on his honour to have naught no more to do with you."
"Did he?" said Caroline, her blazing eyes very near to her aunt's in that tiny place. "Then he is a day too late for the fair—and uncle too. You may tell uncle that. I haven't seen Mr. Wilson for ten days or more, and I'll never enter uncle's house again as long as I live."
"You mustn't talk like that, honey," said Mrs. Creddle. "Uncle took it to heart because he thinks such a lot of you. But you'll soon find some nice young feller in your own station of life next time: don't go hankering after a gentleman, my dear. You would never get one of the best sort, and the other sort's no good to you." She sighed. "But you always had high notions, Carrie, though I don't know where you get them from. I suppose they're going about." With that Mrs. Creddle opened the little door of the pay-box, and let in a blast of air that nearly blew her hat from her head; then she hurried down the wind-swept road in order to get her husband's dinner ready before that already irritated breadwinner should return.
But Caroline sat down again on her chair and threw open the little window so that the salt air could blow across her face. She did not want to cry, because at any minute some one might want to come through the barrier; but after a minute or two she had no fear of that. She began to burn so with outraged pride that she could not yet feel the deeper ache of wounded love. Over and over again the words formed of themselves on the surface of the whirling storm in her mind: "I aren't going to give in! I aren't going to be pitied!"
Then a member of the promenade band came along, fighting with the gale, obliged to fetch some music which he had left in the hall the night before. "Wild morning! Can't say I'm sorry we close to-morrow," he said.
Caroline answered him, but he still lingered, though he had never taken any particular notice of her before, and did not know why he felt inclined to stop to-day. He suddenly felt that Caroline was interesting, though he was not actually aware of that odd shining of the spirit through the flesh—like a lamp in an alabaster vase—which was characteristic of Caroline in moments of supreme, passionate emotion. All he thought was, that there was something unusual about the girl, and that he was sorry he had not noticed it before.
Still, as a decent married man with a wife and children, he took such pleasures as talking to the girl on the promenade in strict moderation, so very soon he went off with his mackintosh flapping.
A few minutes later Lillie came to relieve guard, her woollen tam o' shanter wet and her front hair blown out of curl.