She flushed slightly, but answered without hesitation—
“Perhaps he will be there; but I need not speak to him, if you forbid it. I will stay at home if you wish it, dear.”
“I don’t wish it,” I said. “Go and amuse yourself.”
“Won’t you come?” she murmured, hesitating.
I shook my head, and turned back to my den. She looked after me, and sighed; then walked slowly towards the house. What a sullen beast she must have thought me! But I was irritated beyond measure by what I had seen at the lodge. Not a word of the letter!
Half an hour afterwards I saw the pony-carriage waiting for her, and presently she drove off, looking (as I thought) bright and happy enough. No sooner had she gone than I was mad with myself for not having accompanied her. Was it a rendezvous? Had she gone, of set purpose, to meet him? I cursed my stupidity, my sullenness. At a word from me she would have remained. I had almost made up my mind to walk over, when in came Baptisto. He was wrapped up to the chin in an old travelling cloak, and his nose was blue with cold.
“Have you any message in the village, senor?” he asked. “I am going there.”
I could not resist the temptation, though I hated myself for setting a spy upon her.
“No, I have no message. Stay, though! While you are there, pass by the skating-pond, and see if any of our friends are there.”
He understood me perfectly, and went away, well satisfied at the commission. More and more, as the days go on, the rascal intrudes himself into my confidence, with silent looks of sympathy, dumb signs of devotion. He says nothing, but his looks are ever significant. Sometimes I long, in my irritation, to get rid of him for ever; but no, I may find him useful. I know he would go through fire and water for my sake.