‘I have—I have. God knows I feel things,’ said Meadowes, with sudden curious earnestness. He crossed over to where Anne stood, and laid his fine, white, ringed hand on her arm for a moment.
‘I am grieved for you, Anne; indeed I am; I had not thought ’twould be such a stroke to you, this. I would it were in my power to help you.’
Anne shook her head.
‘ ’Tis kind of you, sir, and thank you; there’s but the cure of time for me, I do fear,’ she said, drawing back slightly from the touch of Meadowes’ hand as she spoke.
‘I have a cottage in the country,’ he began, ‘where an old nurse of mine keeps bees and flowers and the like: mayhap a change to country air would help you to the forgetting of your trouble.’
Anne shook her head and smiled.
‘I’d get no sale for my straw-plaits thereaway,’ she said.
‘Oh, I would pay you——’ began Meadowes, but Anne cut him short.
‘For what, sir?’ she asked sharply.
Meadowes became certain of what he had only suspected before,—that Anne Champion was quite able to take care of herself.