"Yes, yes, Charles Spottiswoode, drive on, and drive fast—don't wait for any one!"
"Not for Tyndal?" asked Mr. Spottiswoode, provokingly.
"Not for a human being—drive on, I beseech you!"
Mr. Spottiswoode obeyed, and the carriage proceeded with rapidity in the direction of Lidham.
Three miles were traversed, and Lidham rose among its woods in grandeur, ere Miss Wycherly attempted to speak; she had taxed her memory to bring forward some topic of conversation, but it played her false; she had awaited a remark from her companion, upon which to ground her intended kindness, and it had not reached her ear—her heart now pined to recover its former ease and happiness, yet no opportunity offered to attempt the resumption. To begin the subject voluntarily, was a thought which fled at its very birth. What! own herself in the wrong, and apologize for having given pain to a worthy heart? Ask for pardon, when she had insulted a human being in the dearest feelings? and, when her spirit longed to be at peace with her lover, full of its own injustice and wrong? forbid it, womanly dignity!
Mr. Spottiswoode passed through the lodge at Lidham, and yet Miss Wycherly persevered in her silence; no matter, Mr. Wycherly was in sight, and the hour was past for repentance; she must henceforth submit to bear a gnawing and unpitied remorse for her levity of conduct, and for the knowledge that she had thrown away the very opportunity she had coveted, to try her power upon her lover's forgiveness. To her "dignity" she must sacrifice an ingenuous confession of sorrow for an error, heartless as it was uncalled for; and the demands of "dignity" superseded the claim of right. So do women often create their own misery, by daring to offend, yet quailing under the degradation of revoking an ungenerous speech.
Mr. Wycherly returned to the house, and was ready to receive his daughter and Mr. Spottiswoode when they drove up in his usual way. It never occurred to him that the somewhat long absence of the latter from Lidham was a sure prognostic of a misunderstanding between the parties most interested in the visits.
"Why, Spottiswoode, you are a truant, but Pen has caught you at last, I see. She and I thought you were gone for ever, but I'm glad to see you, however." Mr. Wycherly handed his daughter from the barouche-box. "Well, now, come down, for dinner has been ready this half-hour; down with you, my good fellow."
Mr. Spottiswoode declined staying dinner; he would take his own horse, and return to Shrewsbury.
"My good fellow, what's the matter with you? you won't think of losing your dinner? Nonsense, my dear sir; stay and take your dinner, and go home afterwards, if you like. Here, Pen, try your eloquence."