Lewis was coming; he had passed through the gate—and she started up. He rode on to the back of the house, left his horse there, and, striding through the hall and down the three stone steps, joined her where she stood upon the greensward, among the fallen leaves. "Good-evening to you!" she said, touched his shoulder with her hand, and raised her face to his. He drew her to him, kissed her with fierce passion, and let her go, then walked to the beech tree and stood with his back to the house, staring at the long wall of the mountains, dark now against a pale gold sky. She followed him. "Lewis! what is the matter?"
He answered without turning, "We are not going, quite yet awhile, over the mountains. Man proposes, and Ludwell Cary disposes. Well! we will stay merrily at home. But he shall pay the score!"
"What do you mean?"
"Two weeks! What may not happen over there in two weeks? And I bound here, hard and fast, hand and foot! By what?—by the plaything code of a plaything honour! Now, if he were any other man under the canopy, I would not stay! The question is, is it imaginable that all this was of set purpose?"
"Lewis, what is the matter?"
Rand turned. "The matter, child? The matter is that you may unpack, and that we will give a dinner party! We do not travel to-morrow; no, nor the next day, nor the next! I have to await a gentleman's leisure."
She hung upon his arm. "Lewis, Lewis, what is it? You are trembling—"
He laughed. "Do you think it is with fear?"
"Don't, don't!" she cried. "Don't be so angry—don't look so black! I am afraid of you. What is it, dearest, dearest?"
"Wait," he said harshly. "Wait, Jacqueline, a moment."