All that morning she kept away from Edred, although she saw him lounging about outside—in the garden, in the orchard, waiting for a word with her. At dinner-time she came down in her most becoming dress. Her cheeks were flushed, and her gray eyes sparkled and darted. She ate very little. The two men made a hearty meal, Edred very voluble betwixt his hurried mouthfuls—talking to Jethro in the superior, pitying way of the town man. Gainah said nothing; they had ceased to regard her. She was a machine. She stitched all day; she fed methodically; she stared at them with her glassy, stupid eyes.
Jethro went out to hurry Daborn with the horse. Pamela, the untasted pudding steaming on her plate, got up with a jerk, and spoke of putting on her hat and gloves. Edred, who had been trying to catch her eye all through the meal, touched her softly on the back of the hand with his fingers. She gave a little cry, and flinched as if they had been hot coal. Her wide eyes, searching his face for the first time, were wildly appealing. He was piqued by her decision to stay behind and marry Jethro. Now that there was a chance of losing her, she suddenly became desirable.
“This won’t do,” he whispered eagerly. “You must come.”
“I can’t. Everything is settled.”
“Pooh! You could arrange——”
He had her hand. He was looking at her ardently. The impulse to go with him—let fate bring what it might—was strong. She looked at him. He was more in earnest, more in love than he had ever been. She had always understood that it was a mistake to let a man know you loved him—but then her feeling had always been so intense that she had been incapable of hiding it. Her love had bubbled in her eyes, on her eager lips. But it was bad strategy all the same.
She looked at the cold, dim room, at the foolishly intent old woman by the window, stitching blue hearts on worn white dimity in a perfect fury of aimless industry. She looked at the grim shadow of the yew, at the yawning cavern of the open hearth, at the somber furniture. And she thought of London, with its glitter, its hurry, and vivacity. London and Love! She let her wrist relax, let her whole fluttering hand be buried in that long, cool one.
“I might arrange——”
She broke off as Jethro came through the low door.
“You two ought to be ready,” he called out. “The horse is coming round.”