“I’ll make the best of it, with the best, when there’s a call to do it,” she said firmly; “but you’ll only be young once, my dear. You may throw away things now as you’ll pine to get back all the days of your life. When you’re thinking things over just remember that!” She stumped from the room, leaving me to digest her words.
The next week passed heavily. I saw little of Mr Thorold, and suspected that the revelation of Evelyn would work against further intimacy. It was impossible that he could feel the same freedom and ease; impossible that he should commandeer my help as he had done in days past. There was no blame attached to the position, it was natural and inevitable; but the loss of the easy, pleasant intercourse left a gap in my life.
Mrs Manners had gone with her children to visit her mother; Mrs Travers cut me in the hall. Poor Miss Harding was having a bad time! Nobody needed her; her absence had passed unnoticed; her return awoke no welcome. Bridget besought me to go out and amuse myself, but I obstinately refused to go, and stayed glued in the flat. Not for worlds would I have acknowledged it to a living creature, but—I was afraid that while I was out some one might call. Ralph Maplestone had said that business would bring him to town. Now that the Merrivales were in Switzerland, and that anxiety was off his hands, he could come when he liked. If he did not come it must be because he did not like!
The reflection did not help to raise my spirits, nor to pass the long-houred days; but it did give me an insight into my own heart. For the first time I was honest with myself, and acknowledged that I wanted him to come! I faced the possibility that I might wait in vain, and felt suddenly faint and weak. It had come to this, that I needed his strength, that I felt it impossible to face life without him by my side. I determined, if he did come, to show signs of weakness in my resolution; possibly to go so far as to arrange a meeting with my niece.
He came one afternoon when I was darning stockings by the dining-room table, and the disobedient orphan showed him straight in on the domestic scene. I hurriedly hitched round my chair and drew the casement curtains, making an excuse of “too much sun,” then folded the shawl round my shoulders, and sat at attention. He said he was pleased to see me. Was I quite well? The weather was very bright. Good news from Switzerland, wasn’t it? General Underwood was suffering from gout. What were Miss Wastneys’ plans for the summer?
“She—she doesn’t know herself!” I sighed vaguely. “Circumstances have—er—altered. Her friend Mrs Fane”—(I realised that Escott would have to hear some explanation of Charmion’s departure, but was loth to set tongues wagging)—“has decided to return to America. She has spent most of her life there, and has many ties.”
He looked supremely uninterested. Mrs Fane might go to Kamtschatka for all he cared!
“And will Miss Wastneys keep on the house alone?”
“Nothing is yet decided; but I think—not!”
He looked unperturbed. Showed none of the agitation I had hoped to see.