“Mr. Gedge, do give me Dacre too, do, just for one day! He shall go for a ride with Mr. Fellowes.”
“Oh golly!” muttered Dacre, dancing in his glee.
Gwen’s face grew brilliant with joy, she could now go with an easy conscience, she couldn’t by any possibility have left Dacre alone, he was too utterly “an ass”. She could now have a whole long afternoon to be happy in; she needn’t think once all the time, only just laugh and play and let herself be kissed—she never by any chance ventured a kiss on her own account—and she would feel Mrs. Fellowes’ soft hands on her head—she always brushed her hair for tea—and hear her soft voice, and it would stay in her ears making little tunes; and the Rector, he would be good too, and remain in the drawing-room after tea—he always did when they came—he was always kind and he told such funny stories.
Gwen’s contained joy broke out in a prolonged “Oh!”
Mrs. Fellowes looked rapidly round the handsome room and out into the Park, the finest in the county, and back to the child’s face.
“It is abominable, abominable,” she thought angrily, “just to be away from the place for a few hours transforms the child, she is simply beautiful this minute with that look—oh, it is brutal! Gwen, love, run at once and put on your things, and, Dacre, run down in the porch, I’ll tell Mr. Fellowes you are going with him.”
As soon as the children were gone she said kindly,
“Mr. Gedge, you’ll have a respite anyway.”
“Mrs. Fellowes,” he burst out, “I am coming to see the Rector, I have endeavoured, and I truly hope conscientiously, to do my duty, but I find my present position altogether untenable. I am not a very strong man, Mrs. Fellowes, and I find this life is fast undermining my constitution.”
He paused for a moment; then he went on hurriedly, in a sudden impulse of confidence,