'We must leave her alone,' he said quickly. 'Dalgetty will look after her.'
The meal passed under a cloud of anxiety. For once Manisty exerted himself to make talk, but not with much success.
As the ladies left the dining-room, he detained Lucy.
'Would it be too hot for you in the garden now? Would you mind returning there?'
Lucy fetched her hat. There was only one short stretch of sun-beaten path to cross, and then, beyond, one entered upon the deep shade of the ilexes, already penetrated, at the turn of the day, by the first breaths of the sea-wind from the west. Manisty carried her books, and arranged a chair for her. Then he looked round to see if any one was near. Yes. Two gardeners were cutting the grass in the central zone of the garden—well within call.
'My aunt, or Mrs. Burgoyne will follow you very shortly,' he said 'You do not mind being alone?'
'Please, don't think of me!' cried Lucy. 'I am afraid I am in your way.'
'It will be all right to-morrow,' he said, following his own thoughts. 'May
I ask that you will stay here for the present?'
Lucy promised, and he went.
She was left to think first, to think many times, of the constant courtesy and kindness which had now wholly driven from her mind the memory of his first manner to her; then to ponder, with a growing fascination which her own state of slight fever and the sultry heat of the day seemed to make it impossible for her to throw off, on Alice Manisty, on the incident of the night before, and on the meaning of the poor lady's state and behaviour. She had taken Mrs. Burgoyne's word of 'mad' in a general sense, as meaning eccentricity and temper. But surely they were gravely anxious—and everything was most strange and mysterious. The memory of the white staring face under the moonlight appalled her. She tried not to think of it; but it haunted her.