“I guess I couldn’t stand it any longer,” Bernard explained; “but a month from now’ll just keep clear of the harvesting. I’d like to do what you want, as far as is reason. And here we are. I’m awfully glad to have met you. You’ll remember I’d like to please you, won’t you?”
Oh yes, Angela said, she would remember; and she kept her word, for all the night through she reflected alternately on Lal’s defection and on Bernard Fane’s subjection—a word which she refused to lengthen into subjugation.
Lal, on his way to the black cottages, walked really fast, but he did not get back in time to help Dolly with her cans of water; she was feeding the baby when he came up. Sitting in a low chair with the child on her knee, holding the bottle, the delicate little toy fingers clasped round her own, Dolly, intent and serious, was no Madonna of pity and love, but a business-like young woman performing a duty. But Lal, who was fond of little children, unconsciously ascribed to her his own feelings; he saw the divine spirit of motherhood, and stood quietly watching, too reverent to speak and break the charm. It was the traitorous sun, suddenly bursting out to throw Lal’s shadow on the floor, which made Dolly look up. She smiled. She had forgotten her vexation, and was frankly glad to see him, yet her first words were a reproach.
“Why did you come back? Your sister hated it, and there was no need!”
“I came to help you.”
“It was a pity. Your sister is very fond of you, very proud; you should not vex her,” Dolly said, laying the child in the cradle. She rose and came to the door, and stood in the hot sunshine, rich in colour as a Tintoretto, spiritual as the crowned Madonna of the angelical painter. She was still thinking of Mrs. Searle, and pity was Dolly’s loveliest expression.
“I left my sister in the charge of your brother; he was going to see her home. Now will you accuse me of vexing her? Or are you going to give me something to do?”
“You may watch the baby while I sweep the room.”
“Thank you; I will sweep the room while you watch the baby.”
“You? You sweep?”