Meryon walked beside them to the garden door, very pale, and breathing quick.
"You can't separate us"—he said to Meynell—"though of course you'll try. Hester, don't believe anything he tells you—till I confirm it."
"Not I!" she said proudly.
Meynell led her through the door, and then turning peremptorily desired Meryon not to follow them. Philip hesitated, and yielded. He stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, watching them, a splendid figure, with his melodramatic good looks and vivid colour.
CHAPTER XIV
Hester and Meynell walked down the avenue, side by side. Behind them, the lunette window under the roof opened again, and a woman's face, framed in black, touzled hair, looked out, grinned and disappeared.
Hester carried her head high, a scornful defiance breathing from the flushed cheeks and tightened lips. Meynell made no attempt at conversation, till just as they were nearing the lodge he said—"We shall find Stephen a little farther on. He was riding, and thought you might like his horse to give you a lift home."
"Oh, a plot!"—cried Hester, raising her chin still higher—"and
Stephen in it too! Well, really I shouldn't have thought it was worth
anybody's while to spy upon my very insignificant proceedings like this.
What does it matter to him, or you, or any one else what I do?"
She turned her beautiful eyes—tragically wide and haughty—upon her companion. There was absurdity in her pose, and yet, as Meynell uncomfortably recognized, a new touch of something passionate and real.
The Rector made no reply, for they were at the turn of the road and behind it Stephen and his horse were to be seen waiting.