He found himself lost in contemplation of the curious subtlety of her nature, as contrasted with its simplicity. He knew, as it happened, that her marriage was most unhappy. He doubted whether he could have discovered as much without the information given him by her mother. Her reserve was impenetrable. If she betrayed herself, it was quite involuntarily, in some phrase which, to him who knew, bore a tragic significance. "You are a man—you can do as you like. I must do as some one else wills, all my life long."
This was as near as she had come, in words, to lifting the veil so carefully dropped. He ranged her qualities one against the other—her incapacity for flirtation, her power of preserving a dignified secrecy. Artlessness combined with prudence! It was another such apparent contradiction which had mystified Gaunt—her hard toil and ceaseless sacrifice, taken in conjunction with her regard for appearances, her love of dainty raiment. As a matter of fact, there was no contradiction. Innate pride and refinement accounted for attributes which seemed to clash.
The day's programme was carried through with much success. They lunched at Lewes, and thence, hugging the northern edge of the Downs, they passed to Steyning and on through Storrington to Pulborough. Here they had an early tea, being warned that no tea was obtainable at Bignor; and went on, through the exquisite late afternoon, along roads which grew to be what Virgie described as "lanier and more laney."
It was as they approached Bignor that Gerald said:
"As soon as Baines has set us down he is going to run the car into Chichester and back. I am expecting a man down for a couple of nights from town, and I told him to come to Chichester, because I thought we could pick him up from thence more easily. Baines will run there in no time—'tisn't more than twelve or fifteen miles each way, and he can fill up his petrol-tank there. He'll be back by the time we have done our sightseeing."
"Bringing the man with him?" she asked, in evident disappointment.
"Yes. By the way, it's a friend of yours—Mr. Ferris, from Perley Hatch."
"What!" cried Virgie, with so sharp an accent of dislike that he was startled.
"Don't you like him? I thought they were friends of yours—they spoke most warmly of you," he began awkwardly.
"Oh, his wife is all right, but he—do you know, Gerald, I think he is odious," said she warmly. "It will just spoil our day, having him with us! What a pity!"