It was a task delicate and dangerous; too delicate for a gentleman; too dangerous for one whose own heart was in doubt.
He feared to seek further.
“Miss Vernon,” he said, resuming the ordinary tone of discourse, “your cousin appears to have left you somewhat abruptly. May I have the pleasure of conducting you to the house? I think I can find the way after hearing Master Scudamore’s very particular directions.”
Master Scudamore! Had this young gentleman been present, he might have felt inclined to repudiate the juvenile appellation.
“Oh, no!” said the baronet’s daughter, scarce longer to be called a child. “I know the way well enough. You mustn’t leave your shooting, Captain Maynard?”
“I cannot continue it; I have no dogs. The very zealous pair of sportsmen to whom I was allotted soon outstripped me, leaving me alone, as you see. If I am not permitted to accompany you, I must—I suppose—I must remain so.”
“Oh, if you’re not going to shoot, you may as well go with me. It may be very lonely for you at the house; but I suppose we’ll find some of the others who have returned.”
“Not lonely,” replied the recreant sportsmen. “Not lonely for me, if you, Miss Vernon, will condescend to give me your company.”
Correctly interpreted, it was a bold speech; and the moment it was made, Maynard regretted it.
He was glad to perceive that it was taken only in the sense of politeness; and, the young girl consenting, he walked with her along the wood-road in the direction of the dwelling.