Hadria had been growing more and more restless since the arrival of the new-comer. She took no further part in the conversation. She was struggling to avoid making comparisons between her two companions. The contrast was startling. Every cadence of their voices, every gesture, proclaimed the radical difference of nature and calibre.
Hadria rose abruptly. She looked pale and perturbed.
“Don’t you think we have sat here long enough?” she asked.
They both looked a little surprised, but they acquiesced at once. The three walked together down the yew avenue, and out across the lawn. Professor Fortescue recalled their past meetings among these serene retreats, and wished they could come over again.
“Nothing ever does come over again,” said Hadria.
Theobald glanced at her, meaningfully.
“Look here, my dear fellow,” he said, grasping Professor Fortescue by the arm, and bending confidentially towards him, “I should like those meetings to repeat themselves ad infinitum. I have made up my mind at last. I want to take the Priory.”
Hadria turned deadly pale, and stumbled slightly.
“Well, take it by all means. I should be only too glad to let it to a tenant who would look after the old place.”
“We must talk it over,” said Theobald.