A cold wind was blowing in the quadrangle, and the stone pavement was wet with a drizzling rain. The sun had just gone down, and the dull autumn sky was darkening. The fallen leaves in the wood were sodden with damp, and rotted slowly on the swampy ground.
Olivia took her way mechanically along the narrow pathway leading to the river. Half–way between Marchmont Towers and the boat–house she came suddenly upon the figure of a man walking towards her through the dusk. This man was Edward Arundel.
The two cousins had not met since the March evening upon which Edward had gone to seek the widow in Paul Marchmont's painting–room. Olivia's pale face grew whiter as she recognised the soldier.
"I was coming to the house to speak to you, Mrs. Marchmont," Edward said sternly. "I am lucky in meeting you here, for I don't want any one to overhear what I've got to say."
He had turned in the direction in which Olivia had been walking; but she made a dead stop, and stood looking at him.
"You were going to the boat–house," he said. "I will go there with you."
She looked at him for a moment, as if doubtful what to do, and then said,
"Very well. You can say what you have to say to me, and then leave me. There is no sympathy between us, there is no regard between us; we are only antagonists."
"I hope not, Olivia. I hope there is some spark of regard still, in spite of all. I separate you in my own mind from Paul Marchmont. I pity you; for I believe you to be his tool."
"Is this what you have to say to me?"