Vansittart walked a long way, engrossed by such speculations as these—at one time inclined to believe that this girl whom he so ardently admired was all that girlhood should be—inclined to trust her even in the face of all strange seeming, to trust her and to follow her footsteps with his reverent love, and if he found her responsive to that love to take her for his wife, in the teeth of all opposition.
“Why should my mother be made unhappy by such a marriage?” he asked himself. “If I can prove that Eve Marchant is in no wise injured by her surroundings, what more do we want? What are the surroundings to my mother or to me? Even if I had to pension the Colonel for the rest of his life I should think little of the cost—if it brought me the girl I love.”
After all, he told himself time was the only test—time must decide everything. His duty to himself was to possess his soul with patience, to see as much as he could of the Marchant family without committing himself to a matrimonial engagement, and without being guilty of anything that could be deemed flirtation. No, he would trifle with no woman’s feelings; he would not love and ride away. He would put a bridle upon his tongue; but he would make it his business to pluck out the heart of the Marchant mystery. Surely among five girls he could manage to be kind and friendly without entangling himself with any one of the five.
Having made out for himself a line of conduct, he walked back to the lake. The shadows of twilight were creeping over the grass. There were very few people on the ice. The Marchants had taken off their skates, and were saying good-bye to the two curates who had been their attendant swains.
“We have such an awful way to walk if we go by the high-road, and we must go that way, for the footpath will be snowed up,” said Sophy. “It will be dark long before we are home.”
The curates had, one an evening school, the other a penny reading, coming on at half-past seven, so they were fain to say good-night. Vansittart came up as they parted.
“Let me walk home with you,” he said; “I haven’t had nearly enough walking.”
“Then what a tremendous walker you must be!” said Jenny; “I saw you marching over the grass just now as if you were walking for a wager.”
His attendance was accepted tacitly, and presently he and Eve were walking side by side, in the rear, while the two younger girls walked on in front, turning round every now and then to join in the conversation, so that the four made one party.
Eve’s eyes were bright enough now, but she was more silent than she had been at their tea-drinking, and she was evidently out of spirits.