Gertrude could not find her book. All that Christie could tell her about it was that she had seen it in Mr Sherwood’s hand in the cedar walk, and that he did not leave it when he went away. She looked for it in the library and in the drawing-room, but it was nowhere to be seen. She had a great objection to asking him for it. Mr Sherwood sometimes condescended to jest with the young lady on some subjects about which they did not agree; and she did not like his jests. So time passed on, till the third day.
“I’ll ask him for it at dinner,” she said to herself. “He is never so provoking when father is there.”
But a good opportunity occurred before dinner. Mr Sherwood was standing in the hall, waiting for Mrs Seaton, whom he was to take into town, when Miss Gertrude passed him on her way up-stairs.
“Mr Sherwood,” she said, “you picked up a book in the garden the other day. It was very careless in me to leave it there. Will you give it to me now?”
“I ought to apologise to you for having kept it so long,” he answered, gravely. “I will get it for you this moment.”
Miss Gertrude looked up to see whether there was not a smile upon his face. She had no idea that her new “whim” for serious reading was to be allowed to pass without remark. But his look was quite grave as he turned into the library.
“Do you like this?” he asked, when he came out with the book in his hand.
“I don’t know. I have not read much of it,” she answered, quickly, moving towards him to take the book. He gave it to her without speaking.
A glance at his face induced her to say, “Are you not well to-day, Cousin Charles?”
It was one of Miss Gertrude’s “whims” always to address him formally as “Mr Sherwood”; and in his agreeable surprise at her familiarity, he smiled brightly. But his face grew grave again as he said: