“If you call it ‘nice’ to live burrowed underground! How sane people can consent to live in town, herded together in a building more like a prison than a home—”
“‘The goodness and the grace’ did not make us all country squires!” I said shortly, whereat he laughed—quite an easy, genial laugh, and twinkled at me with his blue eyes. It was extraordinary how natural and at his ease he appeared; so different from the stiff, silent man I had known at Escott!
The journey takes exactly sixty minutes, and we talked the whole way. For the first twenty minutes I was on my guard, nerving myself to say “No” for the second time, with due firmness and finality. For the next twenty I was friendly and natural. He was behaving so well that he deserved encouragement. During the third twenty I said less, stared out of the carriage window, and felt a disagreeable feeling of irritation and depression. He went on talking about books and gardens and parish difficulties, and I wasn’t interested one bit. One may not wish a man to propose to one for the second time; but, with the echo of vows of undying devotion ringing in one’s ears, it is rather daunting to go through an hour’s tête-à-tête without one personal remark! He had said that I was thin. Perhaps he found me changed in other ways. Perhaps on meeting me again he found he did not like me as much as he had believed. Perhaps he was glad that I had said “No”. We parted at the Vicarage gate; he apparently quite comfortable and composed, I in the lowest depths. What a change from last time!
The door opened, and before I had time to blink Delphine’s arms were round me, and a hot, wet cheek pressed against mine. She was sobbing in a hard, breathless way which made my heart leap; but even on the way to her sitting-room I gathered that my first fear was unfounded.
“Jacky was—the same! In bed. So tired—always so tired! Seems to care for nothing. Hardly even”—the blue eyes opened in incredulous misery—“for me!”
“When people are very weak, they can’t care. It takes strength even to love—at least, to realise that one loves. I never knew a man who adored his wife more than Mr Merrivale does you; but I expect it suits him better just now to lie quietly and snooze rather than to hold your hand and watch you cry.”
She looked guilty at that, and tossed her head with a spice of her old spirit. But the next moment her breath caught in a sob, and she cried desperately:—
“Oh, Evelyn, it’s all awful! Other things—everything—far worse than you know. I’m the most miserable creature in the world. I think I shall go mad. I sent for you because—”
“Hold hard for one moment! I’m hungry! I need my lunch! So do you, by the look of you. Shall we have it first, and tackle the serious business afterwards in your room, where we shan’t be interrupted. There will be plenty of time; I needn’t leave till five.”
“I ordered cutlets, and an omelette, and coffee afterwards. All the things you liked best when you were here. But I can’t eat a bite. It would choke me. I hate the sight of food.”