“About two miles longer. But it is a better road. They ought to be home by this time.”
Rhoda was standing by the window, and he came to her side and looked out. He carefully avoided glancing at her, yet he knew that her face was very proud and cold.
“I think I will go down the road to meet them,” he said. His voice shook a little. It was very hard—it was almost harder than he could bear—to let her go on misunderstanding him. Yet how could he explain?
“I wish they would come home,” Rhoda answered. “Do go and meet them, Mr. Merivale. Miss Smythe wanted to drive, and I do not trust her driving.”
“Bob doesn’t want much driving,” Tom answered. But as he spoke he suddenly remembered the traction engine crawling up the hill. For the first time he felt really alarmed. “I will go down the road,” he said, moving quickly from the window. “Though I daresay I shall meet them almost at once.”
Wilmot followed him into the hall. “Mr. Tom, where can they be?”
“Somewhere on the road between Bingley and our gates,” he said lightly. “Don’t alarm Miss Sampson or my aunt, Wilmot. But send Ann round to the stables to tell Jack to get my horse ready. If I do not see any sign of them on the road, I will ride towards Bingley.”
He went off; and Rhoda, after watching him down the drive, crept upstairs to listen at Miss Merivale’s door. But as she crossed the landing the door opened, and Miss Merivale stepped out, a black lace shawl framing the whiteness of her face.
“Rhoda, where has Tom gone?” she asked. “How still the house is! Haven’t Rose and Miss Smythe come back?”
“Not yet,” answered Rhoda lightly. “Bob’s shoe got loose, you know. They were delayed at the village.”