she managed to quote, with a feeling of amazement that she should have re-conquered her self-possession enough to be able to speak and think at all.
Her whole heart was going out to Claud in gratitude for his most delicate consideration. The whole affair had lasted but a few moments, but she had been very near a breakdown that evening—nearer than she herself knew. She had needed to say nothing—one look into her eyes had told him just what she was feeling, and instantly all his care had been to help her. She had no time to apply any of her habitual restraints to the spontaneous rush of kindness with which she was regarding him. All of a sudden she had discovered in him a delicacy of sympathy which she had never met with in his sex before. He appeared to know exactly what she stood in need of.
It seemed to give her whole nature a species of electric shock; the carefully-preserved moral equilibrium was being severely strained.
"Will you come now?" he said, presently, in her ear. "I think it would be better for you afterwards if you can walk quietly past; but don't if you had rather not; we will go the other way round."
"I will walk past, please."
He turned, and walked at her side.
"I heard an anecdote of the mysterious owner of the Swan the other day," said he. "I fancy it was worth repeating;" and proceeded to relate said anecdote in even tones, making it last until they stood at the gate of the farm. There he broke off abruptly.
"I have brought you home just in time to say good-night to your brother," said he, brightly.
She turned, and gave him her hand.
"Thank you with all my heart," said she. "You don't know how grateful I am. Good-night."