“Of course I don’t mind. I should love it—and it’s really most frightfully good of you.”
So she climbed up beside him, and soon her round bright eyes were looking at him from between her fur cap and huge fur collar, as they had looked that first morning at Starvecrow.... He felt the love rising in his throat ... tender and silly ... he could not speak; and he soon found that she would rather he didn’t. Not only was the Ford’s death-rattle rather loud but she seemed to find the same encouragement to thought as he in that long monotonous jolt through the Weald of Kent. He did not have to lift himself far out of the stream of his thoughts when he looked at her or spoke, but hers were evidently very far away. With a strange mixture of melancholy and satisfaction, he realised that he must count for little in her life—practically nothing at all. Even if she were not Peter’s claim she could never be his—not only on account of her age, six years older than he, but because the fact that she loved Peter showed that it was unlikely she could ever love Gervase, Peter’s contrast.... In his heart was a sweet ache of sorrow, the thrill which comes with the first love-pain.
But as they ran down into Sussex, across the floods that sheeted the Rother levels, and saw the first outposts of Alard-Monking and Horns Cross Farms with the ragged line of Moat Wood—his heart suddenly grew cold. In one of his sidelong glances at Stella he saw a tear hanging on the dark stamen of an eyelash ... he looked again as soon as he dared, and saw another on her cheek. Was it the cold?...
“Stella, are you cold?” he asked, fearing her answer.
“No, thank you, Gervase.”
He dared not ask “Why are you crying?” Also there was no need—he knew. The sweetness had gone out of his sorrow, he no longer felt that luxurious creep of pain—instead his heart was heavy, and dragged at his breast. It was faint with anger.
When they came to the Throws where the road to Vinehall turns out of the road to Leasan, he asked her if she wouldn’t come up to Conster for tea—“and I’ll drive you home afterwards.” But again she said in her gentle voice “No thank you, Gervase.” He wished she wouldn’t say it like that.
§ 18
What did Peter mean?
That was the question Stella had asked herself at intervals during the past month, that she had been asking herself all the way from Ashford to Vinehall, and was still asking when Gervase set her down on the doorstep of Hollingrove and drove away. What did Peter mean?