Mr Beveridge gave her a look full of benignant compassion that made her, she did not quite know why, feel terribly abashed.
“My regiment was quartered at sea,” he condescended to explain. “But in time my conscience awoke. I announced my intention of resuming my charge. My uncle was furious. My enemies were many. I was seized, thrown into this prison-house, and now my only friend fails me.”
They were both silent. She ventured once to glance up at his face, and it seemed to her that his eyes were moist—though perhaps it was that her own were a little dim.
“Let us skate on,” he said abruptly, with a fine air of resignation.
“By the way,” he suddenly added, “I was extremely High Church, in fact almost freezingly high.”
For five minutes they skated in silence, then Lady Alicia began softly, “Supposing you—you went away——”
“What is the use of talking of it?” he exclaimed, melodramatically. “Let me forget my short-lived hopes!”
“You have a friend,” she said, slowly.
“A friend who tantalises me by ‘supposings’!”
“But supposing you did, Mr Beveridge, would you go back to your—did you say you had a parish?”