He rose from his seat.
“Are you going back to Wareborough?” asked Roma, feeling remorseful and yet indignant.
“Certainly not,” he answered sharply, evidently suspecting some meaning in her question. “Wareborough is about the last place I am likely to go to—wretched hole that it is. I am only too thankful to have seen the last of it.”
He spoke, it seemed to Roma, with unnecessary vehemence. But there was no time for anything more to be said. He shook hands formally and was off, and Roma walked slowly upstairs again to her own room, vexed with herself, vexed with Beauchamp, yet sorry for both.
Half-an-hour later Gertrude sent for her. Mrs Eyrecourt was wonderfully gracious. “It is very unlucky, dear—dreadfully unlucky, just what we have all along dreaded so, but most certainly not your fault. And I don’t think there will be any fuss about it. Beauchamp said something ‘confidentially’ to Mrs Chancellor last night about the probability of his being called away suddenly by letters this morning. A friend of his—that Major Thanet, you know, Roma, really is ill—at Torquay or somewhere, and Beauchamp will most likely join him. And he has promised to visit the Chancellors at Wylingham very soon. So after all it may all turn out for the best. They leave to-morrow. And I have been thinking, Roma, considering all—you will be the better of a change, and of course you won’t go to Deepthorne now—I don’t see why we should not go to town sooner than we intended. We can have that house in a fortnight for either two or three months.”
“Very well,” said Roma. “I am quite willing to do as you like.” Then, after a moment’s silence she added, “I am glad Beauchamp is not going back to Wareborough. I was a little afraid of that at first.”
“Of what?” asked Gertrude, lifting her eyebrows. Then as a remembrance of Roma’s former fears returned to her mind, “On account of that girl, do you mean? Oh dear no, I have no fears in that quarter now. You must have exaggerated what you noticed when you were there.”
“Perhaps so,” said Roma, quietly.