“You will come over next Saturday and see our match with the Hussars,” he pleaded, as she gathered up the reins.
“Perhaps; but I will not promise,” she returned, with a nod and a smile. “Oh, dear; how tiresome these last two hours have been. You have not enjoyed yourself a bit. Bessie. I am so sorry!”
“Oh, never mind.” returned Bessie wearily, and then they had both been silent. Neither was in the mood to enjoy the delicious freshness of the evening; that clear shining after the rain that is so indescribable, the wet, gleaming hedges, the little sparkling pools, the vivid green of the meadows; for Edna was feeling the reaction after her excitement; and Bessie, tired out with conflicting feelings was thinking regretfully of her unsatisfactory conversation with Captain Broughton.
“It serves me right, after all,” she thought penitently. “Father always says that we ought to take trouble to please even the most commonplace, uninteresting person, not to let ourselves be bored by anyone, however uncongenial they may be, and of course he is right. I was just fidgeting about the weather, and how we were to get home, and so I did not try to be entertaining.” And here Bessie made a mental resolution to be more charitable in her estimate of people.
She had no idea that Captain Broughton had said to himself as he left her, “Nice little girl, no nonsense about her; not a bad sort, after the women one sees; can talk to a man without looking for a compliment; like her better than Miss Sefton.”
Just as the drive was drawing to a close, Bessie roused up from her unwonted depression. They had turned out of the narrow lane, and a wide sweep of country lay before them, bathed in the soft tints of the setting sun. A mass of golden and crimson clouds made the western heavens glorious, the meadows were transfigured in the yellow radiance, every hedgerow and bush seemed touched by an unearthly finger, a sense of distance, of mystery, of tranquil rest seemed to pervade the world.
“Oh, Edna, how beautiful! If only one were an artist to try and paint that.”
“Yes; it is a fine evening,” remarked Edna carelessly.
“Thank goodness, there is The Grange at last. Yes, there is Richard, evidently on the lookout for us. So I suppose they have finished dinner.”
“Did you think we were lost?” she asked with a little air of defiance, as her brother came forward and patted the ponies.