“I see,” he said; “no need for another word. Good-bye. I have had a glimpse into—the garden of Eden, though I must not stay.”
“Mr. Fairfax!” cried Alice, as he turned away. “Come back—come back this moment! How dare you take me up so? Do you want to get me into trouble,” she cried, half crying, half laughing, “with mamma? Would you like to have her—beat me?”
“She does so sometimes?”
“To be sure,” cried Alice, with an unsteady laugh. “Oh, Mr. Fairfax, what a fright you have given me! You have made my heart beat!”
“Not so much as mine,” he said. They had their laugh, and then they stood once more looking at each other. “It is all very well,” said the young man; “you want to spare my feelings; you would not hurt any one. But beyond that, you know as well as I do that Lady Markham, knowing who I am, would not like to have me here.”
“Who are you?” said Alice, with a little renewed alarm; and in her mind she tried to remember whether there had been any trials in the papers, any criminals who bore this name.
“I am nobody at all,” said Fairfax. “I haven’t even the distinction of being improper, or belonging to people who have made themselves notable either for evil or good. I am nobody. That is precisely what I want Lady Markham to understand.”
“I think, Mr. Fairfax,” said Alice, “you had better go and send for your things, as mamma said.”
“You think I may?”
He looked at her with eyes full of pleasure and gratitude, putting more meaning into her words than they would bear, and getting a thrill of conscious happiness out of the little arbitrary tone which, half in jest and half to hide her real doubts, Alice put on. He was so glad to obey, to say to himself that it was their own doing and that they could not blame him for it, so happy to be made to remain as he persuaded himself. The children rushed in as he went away to obey what he called to himself the order he had received, eager to know who he was, and making a hundred inquiries about all kinds of things—about papa’s illness, why he looked so grey, and what was the matter with him; about Paul, why he did not come home; about Mr. Fairfax, who he was, what he was, what he was doing there, whether he was going to stay. There was scarcely a question that could be put on these subjects which the ingenious children did not ask; and Alice was glad finally to suggest that they should walk to the village with Mr. Fairfax and show him where the post-office was, that he might telegraph for his portmanteau. They were quite willing to take this on themselves. “We shall be sure to see the little gentleman,” Bell said. “Who is the little gentleman?” asked Alice; but she had so many things to think of that she did not pay any attention to the reply, which was made by all the four voices at once. What did it matter? She had a hundred things so much more important to think of.