Chapter Eight.
A Narrow Escape.
Suddenly Jean wrapped herself in a mantle of reserve. Not even to Vanna, her chosen confidante, did she express surprise at Gloucester’s sudden appearance, or make one single comment, favourable or the reverse. Driving home in Mrs Rendall’s carriage, she maintained her fair share in the conversation, and betrayed no sign of embarrassment. That she was embarrassed Vanna knew by the tone of her voice, which was wont to take a higher, shriller note on such occasions; but neither Gloucester nor Miggles was likely to recognise so subtle a betrayal. The old lady was evidently greatly taken with the new acquaintance, and invited him to dinner at the end of the drive.
“We are only three women, very dull for a young man, but as you are alone in the inn—so unhomelike, inn-parlours!—if you would care to dine at seven o’clock, pot luck, just a simple meal! Don’t dress; it’s a picnic life down here, and the girls like to run about as long as it keeps light.”
Miggles had reigned as mistress of Mr Goring’s home for so many years that, failing the second wife’s presence, she still managed the household, without any attempt at interference from her old pupil. Jean had no ambition for domestic responsibilities; looking after a house was dull, stodgy work, Miggles liked it, then for goodness’ sake let her do it; she had no wish to exercise her prerogative. It was Miggles, therefore, who gave the newcomer his first invitation to the Cottage, but when Robert’s eyes turned to the girl with an involuntary question, Jean was ready with a gracious support.
“We are very quiet, as Miss Miggs says. Next week father brings down the family, and it will be livelier; but if you care to risk it, we shall be pleased.”
“Seven o’clock. Thank you!” said Robert simply. He took his leave for the time being, and the ladies entered the Cottage.
“We had better get our letters written, as we shall not have time later on,” said Jean calmly. Even when seated with Vanna at the same writing-table she made no reference to the event of the afternoon. It might have been the most natural thing in the world for Robert Gloucester to leave his old friends in less than a week after his return from India, in order to have the privilege of fishing with a strange elderly gentleman. When the letters were finished, she talked on indifferent subjects, gaily, lovingly, intimately as ever, yet with a certain carriage of the head, a set of the lips which seemed to send forth an unspoken warning, “Until now my heart has lain bare before you, but to-day there has entered into it something so intimate, so sacred, that it cannot be revealed to any human gaze. Touch me not!” And Vanna understood, and was silent.
Robert Gloucester came back to dinner and sat at the head of the table opposite Miggles, the two girls seated one on either side. A bowl of roses stood in the centre of the table; roses twined round the framework of the opened window; tiny sprays of roses wandered over the muslin of Jean’s gown. They talked of books, of pictures, of foreign lands, of things extraordinary, and things prosaic. When Robert recounted experiences abroad, the two girls questioned him as to scenery and environment, and Miggles wished to know what he had had to eat, and if there was any means of drying his clothes.
Gloucester also entered into details about his business life, and the failure of his investments, explaining his present monetary position with an incredible frankness.