Chapter Twenty Three.
Between Two Women.
It was late on the following morning when Teresa, sitting over her embroidery in the garden, saw Dane Peignton making his way towards her across the lawn. It was his first appearance since the return from the fateful picnic, and Teresa, looking at him, marvelled at the change which twenty-four hours had wrought. She herself had suffered from shock and disillusionment, yet the mirror had shown no change, the fresh pink colour had not faded from her cheeks, her eyes were clear and blue. The first realisation of the truth of Grizel’s words came to her at the sight of Dane’s lined face. At the glance of his wan eyes, the forced smile faded from her lips. A shiver of dread passed through her at the realisation that there was to be no covering up of the ugly truth. The grim determination of Peignton’s mien showed that he was braced for the ordeal of confession.
They shook hands, and he seated himself beside her. A clump of shrubs hid the windows of the house, no path broke the smooth stretch of green; they were alone, free from the fear of interruption.
“I hope you feel better this morning,” said Teresa primly. She was embroidering a large entwined monogram on a square of green velvet. The monogram was Peignton’s own, and the square was designed for the back of a blotter for his writing table. He had watched its progress from the first stitches onward, and had given his opinion on contrasting shades. His face twisted with pain as he watched the sweep of the needle with the long brown thread.
“Thank you, yes. I am better.—I was—very tired!”
Teresa sewed on, her eyes downcast, the needle rhythmically lifting and falling to take up another neat, accurate stitch. Her low muslin collar showed the line of the young bending throat.
Peignton’s eyes softened into tenderness as he watched her. He stretched out his hand, and intercepted another upward sweep.
“Dear! Put that down... We’ve got to have this out... There is so much that we have to say to each other, Teresa!”