Then Stephen would feel that life was past bearing, and sometimes she must ride rather wildly for miles—now on Raftery, now on Sir Philip’s young chestnut. All alone she would ride in the early mornings, getting up from a sleepless night unrefreshed, yet terribly alive because of those nerves that tortured her luckless body. She would get back to Morton still unable to rest, and a little later would order the motor and drive herself across to The Grange, where Angela would usually be dreading her coming.
Her reception would be cold: ‘I’m fairly busy, Stephen—I must pay off all these bills before Ralph gets home;’ or: ‘I’ve got a foul headache, so don’t scold me this morning; I think if you did that I just couldn’t bear it!’ Stephen would flinch as though struck in the face; she might even turn round and go back to Morton.
Came the last precious day before Ralph’s return, and that day they did spend quite peaceably together, for Angela seemed bent upon soothing. She went out of her way to be gentle to Stephen, and Stephen, quick as always to respond, was very gentle in her turn. But after they had dined in the little herb garden—taking advantage of the hot, still weather—Angela developed one of her headaches.
‘Oh, my Stephen—oh, darling, my head’s too awful. It must be the thunder—it’s been coming on all day. What a perfectly damnable thing to happen, on our last evening too—but I know this kind well; I’ll just have to give in and go to my bed. I’ll take a cachet and then try to sleep, so don’t ring me up when you get back to Morton. Come to-morrow—come early. I’m so miserable, darling, when I think that this is our last peaceful evening—’
‘I know. But are you all right to be left?’
‘Yes, of course. All I need is to get some sleep. You won’t worry, will you? Promise, my Stephen!’
Stephen hesitated. Quite suddenly Angela was looking very ill, and her hands were like ice. ‘Swear you’ll telephone to me if you can’t get to sleep, then I’ll come back at once.’
‘Yes, but don’t do that, will you, unless I ring up—I should hear you, of course, and that would wake me and start my head throbbing.’ Then as though impelled, in spite of herself, by the girl’s strange attraction, she lifted her face: ‘Kiss me . . . oh, God . . . Stephen!’
‘I love you so much—so much—’ whispered Stephen.