Not resolutely. Besides the half sad, half indignant expression upon his countenance, there is also one of indecision. He is debating within himself what course to pursue, and whether he will go off without bidding her good-bye. He is almost mad enough to be ill-mannered; and possibly, were it only a question of politeness, he would not stand upon, or be stayed by it. But there is more. The very same spiteful rage hinders him from going. He thinks himself aggrieved, and, therefore, justifiable in demanding to know the reason—to use a slang, but familiar phrase, “having it out.”
Just as has reached this determination, an opportunity is offered him. Having taken leave of Miss Linton, he has returned to the door, where he stands hat in hand, his overcoat already on. Miss Wynn is now also there, bidding good night to some guests—intimate friends—who have remained till the last. As they move off, he approaches her; she, as if unconsciously, and by the merest chance, lingering near the entrance. It is all pretence on her part, that she has not seen him dallying about; for she has several times, while giving congé to others of the company. Equally feigned her surprise, as she returns his salute, saying—
“Why, Captain Ryecroft! I supposed you were gone long ago!”
“I am sorry, Miss Wynn, you should think me capable of such rudeness.”
“Captain Ryecroft” and “Miss Wynn,” instead of “Vivian” and “Gwen!” It is a bad beginning, ominous of a worse ending.
The rejoinder, almost a rebuke, places her at a disadvantage, and she says rather confusedly—
“O! certainly not, sir. But where there are so many people, of course, one does not look for the formalities of leave-taking.”
“True; and, availing myself of that, I might have been gone long since, as you supposed, but for—”
“For what?”
“A word I wish to speak with you—alone. Can I?”