She gathered her mantle of purple velvet about her as she rose up, and went out of the room in silence, giving Duffham her hand in token of friendship.
Duffham opened the front-door, and was confronted by a tall footman—with a gold-headed cane and big white silk calves—who had been waiting in the air for his lady. She took the way to the Grange; the man and his protecting cane stepping grandly after her.
“Sir Geoffry Chavasse.”
Buried in her own reflections by the drawing-room fire, in the coming dusk of the winter’s evening, Miss Layne thought her ears must have deceived her. But no. It was Sir Geoffry who advanced as the servant made the announcement; and she rose to meet him. Strangely her heart fluttered: but she had been learning a lesson in calmness for many years; he had too, perhaps; and they shook hands quietly as other people do. Sir Geoffry threw back his overcoat from his wasted form as he sat down.
Wasted more than ever now. Some weeks have gone on since my lady’s impromptu visit to Mr. Duffham’s tea-table; winter is merging into spring; and the most sanguine could no longer indulge hope for Sir Geoffry.
“You have heard how it is with me?” he began, looking at Mary, after recovering his short breath.
“Yes,” she faintly answered.
“I could not die without seeing you, Mary, and speaking a word of farewell. It was in my mind to ask you to come to the Grange for half-an-hour’s interview; but I scarcely saw how to accomplish it: it might have raised some speculation. So as the day has been fine and mild, I came to you.”
“You should have come earlier,” she murmured. “It is getting late and cold.”