The Rector did not attempt to pursue her. He turned back toward the Rectory, perturbed and self-questioning. But it was not possible, after all, to set a tragic value on the love affair of a young lady who, within a week of its breaking off, had already consoled herself with another swain. Anything less indicative of a broken heart than Hester's behaviour during that week the Rector could not imagine. Personally he believed that she spoke the simple truth when she said she no longer cared for Stephen. He did not believe she ever had cared for him.
Still he was troubled, and on his way toward the Rectory he turned aside. He knew that on his table he should find letters waiting that would take him half the night. But they must lie there a bit longer. At Miss Puttenham's gate he paused, hesitated a moment, then went straight into the twilight garden, where he imagined that he should find its mistress.
He found her, in a far corner, among close-growing trees and with her usual occupations, her books and her embroidery, beside her. But she was neither reading nor sewing. She sprang up to greet him, and for an hour of summer twilight they held a rapid, low-voiced conversation.
When he pressed her hand at parting they looked at each other, still overshadowed by the doubt and perplexity which had marked the opening of their interview. But he tried to reassure her.
"Put from you all idea of immediate difficulty," he said earnestly. "There really is none—none at all. Stephen is perfectly reasonable, and as for the escapade to-day—"
The woman before him shook her head.
"She means to marry at the earliest possible moment—simply to escape from Edith—and that house. We sha'n't delay it long. And who knows what may happen if we thwart her too much?"
"We must delay it a year or two, if we possibly can—for her sake—and for yours," said Meynell firmly. "Good night, my dear friend. Try and sleep—put the anxiety away. When the moment comes—and of course I admit it must come—you will reap the harvest of the love you have sown. She does love you!—I am certain of that."
He heard a low sound—was it a sobbing breath?—as Alice Puttenham disappeared in the darkness which had overtaken the garden.