So eager was Penelope to compass the matter that she actually sought out Miss Wake in the early morning before she was up and dressed. 'Pray, Cousin Theresa, stay on a little longer! Do not go to-morrow. This is the sixth—stay on till the ninth. We are all leaving on Saturday.' She added, after a scarcely perceptible pause: 'Sir George Downing is coming back to-day.'
But Miss Wake's answer was very decided, and not very gracious in expression. Was it fancy that made Mrs. Robinson feel that the few words were uttered very coldly? 'No; we cannot alter our plans at this late hour, Mrs. Pomfret is expecting Cecily back to-morrow evening. We must certainly leave in the morning, and you will be able to spare us very well.'
II
There came a time when Wantley often debated painfully as to why he had lent himself to the bringing back of Downing to Monk's Eype, and when he was glad to remember that he had said a word of protest to his cousin. Penelope had chosen him to be her messenger; his had been the task of taking her invitation to Kingpole Farm.
Mrs. Robinson had tried to treat the matter with Wantley as of no moment. He had listened in silence, and then reluctantly had said: 'I will go if you really wish it, but I think you are not acting wisely;' only to be disarmed by the look of suffering, almost of despair, which had met his measured words.
And so he had taken the letter which had summoned Downing to her side. 'I beg you to come back for two or three days,' she wrote. 'Things have not been going well with me. I need your help. I feel that before leaving here I ought to inform my mother of my—of our—intentions.'
In later life Wantley sometimes recalled that last visit to Kingpole Farm.
During the long solitary drive he had wondered uneasily if he was expected—if this little episode had been arranged between Mrs. Robinson and the man with whom he was beginning to believe his cousin was indeed more closely connected than he liked to think possible. But at once he had seen that Downing knew nothing—that he, Wantley, had not been expected, indeed, was not welcome. Downing struck him as aged, sombre, perhaps even defiant, as he held out his lean brown hand for Penelope's note. While reading it he had turned away, treating his visitor with scant ceremony, then had said briefly, 'I understand I am to come back with you—now—to-day?' And Wantley had as shortly assented.
Perforce—this also he later remembered time and again—Wantley was present at the meeting of Penelope and Downing.
The two men found her standing by the open door, her tall figure outlined against the hall, the sunny terrace, the belt of blue sea beyond. She was looking out landward, shading her eyes—sunken, grey-lidded with much sleeplessness, perhaps with tears—from the bright light.