“We were foolish enough to do anything, I think, at that time.”
“That pretty gipsy girl with the dark almond eyes and red-and-amber headdress was sadly out in her reading of our destinies.”
Mrs. Haldane made no reply. These reminiscences, and especially the tone in which the vicar dwelt on them, disquieted her.
“I think the worst of the shower is over now,” she said, stepping from under his umbrella. As she spoke, however, a fresh gust of wind and rain contradicted her, and she stepped further into the shelter of the tree. Mr. Santley clearly understood the significance of her words and action.
“It is raining far too heavily to go yet,” he said gently. “Let me hold my umbrella over you.”
She consented a little uneasily, but he laid his hand upon her arm and said—
“I have displeased you by referring to the past, have I not? Come, be frank with me. Surely we are good enough friends by this to speak candidly to each other.”
She raised her great dark eyes to his face and replied gravely,
“I do not like you to speak of the past in that way. I do not think it is right. I hope we are good enough friends to speak candidly. I have trusted you as a friend, as a very dear and true friend. I wish to keep you always my friend; but when you spoke just now of our childish liking for each other, I do not think you spoke as a—friend.”
The vicar was silent, and his eyes were cast on the ground.