“How pretty that light is, breaking on the woods; how splendid the colours;” said Miss Darkwell.
“Yes—well! It really is now, jolly!” responded Vane Trevor; and he would have made a pretty little speech on that text; but the presence of Miss Perfect, of course, put that out of the question.
Miss Perfect was silent during nearly all the rest of the walk; and the conversation remained to the young people, and Vane Trevor was as tenderly outspoken as a lunatic in his case dare be under restraint and observation.
They had reached the poplars, only a stone’s throw from the gate of Gilroyd, when Miss Perfect asked abruptly, “How was the young man looking?”
Vane Trevor had just ended a description of old Puttles, the keeper of the “Garter,” whom he had seen removed in a drunken apoplexy to the hospital yesterday; and Aunt Dinah’s question for a moment puzzled him, but he quickly recovered the thread of the by-gone allusion.
“Oh! Maubray? I beg pardon. Maubray was looking very well, I think: a little like a hero in love, of course, you know, but very well. He was just going to lunch with the ladies when I left, and looked precious hungry, I can tell you. I don’t think you need trouble yourself about Maubray, Miss Perfect, I assure you you needn’t, for he’s taking very good care of himself every way, by Jove.”
“I don’t trouble myself,” said Aunt Dinah, rather sternly, interrupting Trevor’s agreeable cackle. “He has quite broken with me, as I already informed you—quite, and I don’t care who knows it. I shall never interfere with him or his concerns more. He shall never enter that gate, or see my face more; that’s no great privation, of course; but I don’t wish his death or destruction, little as he deserves of me, and that’s the reason I asked how he looked; and, having heard, I don’t desire to hear more about him, or to mention his name again.”
And Miss Perfect stared on Vane Trevor with a grim decision, which the young man was a little puzzled how to receive, and, with the gold head of his cane to his lip, looked up at a cloud, with a rueful and rather vacant countenance, intended to express something of a tragic sympathy.
He walked with them to the pretty porch; but Aunt Dinah was still absent and grim, and bid him good-bye, and shook hands at the door, without asking him in; and though he seemed to linger a little, there was nothing for it, but to take his departure, rather vexed.
That evening was silent and listless at Gilroyd, and though Miss Perfect left the parlour early, I think there was a séance, for, as she lay in her bed, Violet heard signs of life in the study beneath her, and Miss Perfect was very thoughtful, and old Winnie Dobbs very sleepy, all next day.