"They do,—but—-"
"But why should they?—you would say, being a man,"—and Maryllia forced a laugh.—"And that's a question difficult to answer! Are you going into the church?"
"Not for a service, or on any urgent matter,"—replied John—"I left a book in the vestry which I want to refer to,—that's all."
"Fetch it," said Maryllia—"I'll wait for you here."
He glanced at her—and saw that her lips trembled, and that she was still on the verge of tears. He hurried off at once, realising that she wanted a minute or two to recover herself. His heart beat foolishly fast and uncomfortably,—he wondered what had grieved or annoyed her.
"Poor little soul!" he murmured, reflecting on a conversation with which Julian Adderley had regaled him the previous day, concerning some of the guests at Abbot's Manor—"Poor, weary, sweet little soul!"
While Maryllia, during his brief absence was thinking—"I won't cry, or he'll take me for a worse fool than I am. He looks so terribly intellectual—so wise and cool and calm!—and yet I think—I THINK he was rather pleased to see me!"
She smoothed her face into a smile,—gave one or two more reproving taps to her eyelids with her morsel of a kerchief, and was quite self-possessed when he returned, with a worn copy of the Iliad under his arm.
"Is that the book you wanted?" she asked.
"Yes—" and he showed it to her—"I admit it had no business to be left in the church."