“And then? Afterwards... How soon did you—”
“Pull myself together? Oh, I dunno! As soon as I—began to pull round, I suppose!” He shrugged his shoulders. “Not much credit in that, was there? I sulked, as you put it, so long as everything seemed over, but when I saw I was going to live on, I was obliged to rouse myself to see what could be done. That’s natural! The more one has lost, the more important it is to make the most of what remains. I couldn’t enjoy my life in the way I intended, but I was determined to enjoy it all the same.”
“And have you?”
“Rather! Look at me now. Having a rattling time. I’ve never enjoyed things more in my life than during the last few weeks.”
“Church decorations included!” Cassandra enquired with malice prepense. She wanted to see if he would look self-conscious at what was meant to be a veiled reference to his connection with Teresa, but he looked at her with the frankest of smiles and said: “Yes; didn’t you?” and it was she, not he, who suffered from embarrassment.
At lunch Bernard was unaffectedly pleased to see the unexpected guest, and throughout its course talked to him persistently on topics which left Cassandra out in the cold. She was evidently accustomed to be thus ignored, for her dreamy eyes showed that her thoughts were far away, and she replied so absently to Dane’s tentative attempts to draw her into the conversation, that he was not encouraged to persevere. She awoke to sudden sharp consciousness, however, when Bernard began making suggestions for the afternoon, taking for granted that his guest was ready to accompany him wherever he should suggest to go. “I’ve been wanting to drive round Boxley for some time. You come along and give me your advice,” he said finally, and again Cassandra knew a revival of youthful days in the tingle of anger, the incredulous load of disappointment, which like a real physical weight pressed upon her heart. It was ridiculous, it was absurd, it was quite ludicrously out of proportion, to feel so torn about so small a thing, but she was torn. It was in her at that moment to blaze into anger, to speak loud protesting words, to push aside her plate and dash from the room. All the different impulses which had torn the girl Cassandra when defrauded of a promised treat of the nursery surged up suddenly in the breast of the woman who sat in silent dignity at the head of her table, smiling her unruffled, society smile.
Bernard, of course—Bernard never took her into consideration; but,—What would Peignton say?
What he said was the easiest, most natural of explanations.
“Thanks very much. Another time I’d be delighted, but this afternoon Lady Cassandra has promised to show me the gardens. Perhaps we could fix a day for next week?”
The Squire knitted his eyebrows, and looked from his guest to his wife, back again from his wife to his guest. Plainly he was concerned, plainly also he was concerned for his guest’s sake, not that of his wife.