“You have cut the knot with your heroic rescue! The Squire will call; the General will call; the neighbouring sheep will follow in their train. We shall be graciously ‘forgiven’ and admitted into the fold. Our quiet, sent-to-Coventry existence is at an end.”
I looked at her anxiously. From voice and manner it was impossible to tell what she was really feeling. Above all things I wanted to please her. But still—
“Are you sorry, Charmion? Would you be sorry? I suppose they will come, but there is no necessity to receive them, if you would rather not. After ignoring us so long, they could not complain. I will leave it to you to decide.”
“Then they shall come,” she said firmly. “You’ve been a brick about it, dear, but I’m not blind. I know that it has been a trial for you to be cut off from general society. You are a sociable creature, and need friends around you. We have had a happy tête-à-tête, and I’ve enjoyed it thoroughly, but it couldn’t go on. I should not have allowed it to go on. I am a selfish woman in many ways, but not selfish enough to make a hermit of you at twenty-six. So!—let them all come. In any case, we shall probably be making a move before very long, so we can’t be drawn very deeply into the rustic maelstrom!”
“We shall be making a move.”
The words gave me a jar. My “Kensington” flat is now in order, and ready to receive my furniture whenever I care to send it in. I am still in love with the Pixie scheme; but, while summer lasts, and the garden grows more beautiful every day, I want to stay here! In my own mind I had settled down till September at least. I had believed that Charmion was as happy as myself, but now the old restlessness sounded in her voice. I looked at her, and saw her eyes staring wearily into space. Oh dear, oh dear, the narcotic of the new life is already losing its power; the grim spectre of the past is casting its shadow between us!
They have called! This afternoon, when we were having tea in the garden, General Underwood’s bath-chair appeared suddenly on the scene. First came a crunching of gravel, and when we turned our heads to discover the cause, the front wheel was already turning the corner of the path, and the next moment there was the General smiling benevolently upon us, the valet pushing the handle, and walking by his side the Squire himself, very red in the face and puckered about the brow, exactly like a naughty boy who is being dragged forward to say he is “sorry.”
Fortunately there was no time to consider the situation. We shook hands, and found a chair for Mr Maplestone, and ordered more tea, and discussed the weather in its various branches, all with the utmost propriety, until gradually the ice thawed. Charmion is a gracious hostess, and the General is as genial and simple in manner as most men who have spent their lives “east of the Suez”. After five minutes in his society one understands why he is the idol of the neighbourhood. He looks ill, poor dear, but his blue eyes are still clear and alert, and he twinkles them at you in such a shrewd, kindly fashion.
Not a word did he say about the accident until tea was half over and I handed him some cake, when he looked full at me, and asked slyly:—
“How is the poor arm?”