Allan was dashed by Suzette's refusal to accept him on any other footing than that of friendship, and he was angry with himself for having spoken too soon. The only comfort left him was her willingness to consider him still her friend; but this was cold comfort, and in some wise more disheartening than if she had been more angry. Yet in his musings he could but think that she liked him better than a mere average acquaintance; while now and then there stole across his mind the flattering hope that she liked him better than she herself knew. He recalled all those happy hours they had spent together, with only Mrs. Wornock to make a third, Mrs. Wornock who so often crept away to her beloved organ and left them free to loiter in the gardens, or to sit in one of the deeply recessed windows, talking in whispers, while the music filled the room, or to stray far off in the stately pleasaunce, where their light laughter could not disturb the player.
They had talked together often enough and long enough to have explored each other's minds and imaginations, and they had found that about all great things they thought alike; while their differences of opinion about the trifles of life gave them subjects for mirthful argument, occasions for disagreeing only to end in agreement.
Suzette complained that Allan's university training made all argument unfair. How could she—an illogical, prejudiced woman, maintain her ground against a master of dialectics?
In all their companionship he could remember no moments of ennui, no indication upon the young lady's part that she could have been happier elsewhere than in his company. This was at least encouraging. The dual solitude seemed to have been as pleasant to her as it was to him. She had confided in him in the frankest fashion. She had told him story after story of her convent life; of her friends and chosen companions. She had talked to him as a girl might talk to a cousin whom she liked and trusted; and how often does such liking ripen into love; an attachment truer and more lasting than that hot-headed love at first sight, born of the pleasure of the eye, and taking shallowest root in the mind. Allan's musings ended in a determination to cultivate the friendship which had not been withheld from him, and to trust to time for the growth of love.
He was anxious to see Suzette as soon as possible after that premature avowal which had stirred the calm current of their companionship, lest she should have time to ponder upon his conduct, and to feel embarrassed at their next meeting. She had told him that she was going to the golf-links before breakfast on the following morning; so at eight o'clock Allan made his appearance on the long stretch of rather rough common-land which bordered the Salisbury road half a mile from Beechhurst, and which was distinguished from other waste places by the little red flags of the golf club.
She was there, as fresh as the morning, in her blue-serge frock and sailor hat, attended by a small boy, and with the vicar's youngest daughter for her companion.
She blushed as they shook hands—blushed, and then distinctly laughed; and the laugh, frank as it sounded, was the laugh of a triumphant coquette, for she was thinking of her aunt's indignation yesterday afternoon, and thinking how little it mattered her refusing a man who was so absolutely her slave. Propose to her again, forsooth? Why, of course he would propose to her again, and again, and again, as that foolish young subaltern had done at Simla. Were all men as foolish, Suzette wondered; and had all young women as much liberty of choice?
She glanced involuntarily at the Vicar's youngest daughter, regarded by her family as the flower of the flock, but of a very humble degree in the floral world. A fresh-coloured, pudding-faced girl, with small eyes and a pug nose, but with a tall, well-developed figure of the order that is usually described as "fine."
The golf went on in a desultory way, Allan strolling after the players, and venturing a remark now and then, as suggested by a single summer's experience at St. Andrews. When the two girls had been round the course, and it was time to hasten home to their respective breakfast-tables, he accompanied them on their way, and after having left Miss Bessie Edgefield at the Vicarage gate he had Suzette all to himself for something under a quarter of a mile. They met Mrs. Mornington a little way from Marsh House, sallying out for her morning conference with butcher and fishmonger, the business of providing Mr. Mornington's dinner being too important to be left to the hazards of cook and shopkeeper. It was necessary that Mrs. Mornington's own infallible eye should survey saddle or sirloin, and measure the thickness of turbot or sole.
She greeted the two young people with jovial heartiness, and rejoiced beyond measure at seeing them together. After all, perhaps Suzette had done well in refusing the first offer. The poor young man was evidently her slave.