She picked a rose and pressed her nose right into the exquisite petals. The fresh morning air, the farm sounds; dew, sun in a haze of slow fire, bees streaming brown and yellow from the hives, the old house foaming with the loose Devoniensis rose and lichened to the roof—all these drew her.
“To-morrow morning,” he continued, with satisfaction, “I shall be able to have a whisky-and-soda directly I wake. It pulls a fellow together. Leave me alone with old Jeth after breakfast—I’m sorry for the poor devil; you are treating him badly—but a woman has no heart. And, Pam, hurry up dinner to-day. We’d better start soon after.”
Jethro came round the house from the yard. He looked a little careless and rough. Directly he caught Pamela’s glance, his aristocratic face, with the wholesome russet skin, lighted, and he jerked his thumb, with a smile and a droll, tender gesture, toward the tall ladders and the litter of the builders.
The house—restful, spacious, substantial; the figure beside it, all honest devotion, decided her. She turned to Edred, lithe and dark, flushed at the prospect of early emancipation from Folly Corner, which had been to him merely a rambling prison with lax rules.
“I’ve altered my mind,” she whispered hurriedly, not daring to look at him, not daring to stand close, for fear her hand should touch his coat-sleeve and make her waver. “I’ll stay. I’ll marry Jethro. Don’t come down. Lead your own life. In future, as you said, I shall only know you in the newspapers—a day late. I shall be content, happy; you’ll be free.”
He stared at her in frank amazement. He was disappointed, astounded, relieved.
“You’ll stay.” He gave his cynical smile; then, as Jethro came up, his face shining and his hands soiled with the poultry-yard, he strolled off.
When breakfast was over she threw a look of meaning across the table and left the room. As she turned to shut the door she saw the two men disappear in the direction of Jethro’s little den—the home-made bureau was in there, with the secret drawer and the bank notes.
Gainah was already settled at the oval table by the window, cutting patchwork hearts, with the aid of a piece of carefully shaped tin.
Pamela went along the narrow passage into the drawing-room and tried to dust, to rearrange china, alter furniture—anything for bodily energy.