“I don’t know, and I don’t care!” he replied, swinging his walking cane, and smiling as he towered above her.
“He may go hang—for once!”
She hesitated. “It is very good of you,” she said. “I confess I did not look forward to the walk back. But——”
“There is no—but,” he replied. “And no walk back! It is arranged. It is time—” his eyes dwelt kindly on her as she turned with him—“it is time that some one took it in hand to arrange things for you. Five miles in and five miles out over dirty roads on a winter afternoon—and Miss Audley! No, no! And now—this way, please!”
She yielded, she could not tell why, except that it was difficult to resist him, and not unpleasant to obey him. And after all, why should she not go with him? She had been feeling fagged and tired, depressed, moreover, by her uncle’s fears. The low-lying fields, the town, the streets, all dingy under a gray autumn sky, had given her no welcome.
And her thoughts, too, had been dun-colored. She had felt very lonely the last few days, doubtful of the future, without aim, hipped. And now in a moment all seemed changed. She was no longer alone, nor fearful. The streets were no longer dingy nor dreary. There were still pleasant things in the world, kindness, and thought for others, and friendship and—and tea and cake! Was it wonderful that as she walked along beside my lord her spirits rose? That she felt an unaccountable relief, and in the reaction of the moment smiled and sparkled more than her wont? That the muddy brick pavement, the low-browed shops, the leafless trees all seemed brighter than before, and that even the butcher’s stall became almost a thing of beauty?
And he responded famously. He swung his stick, he laughed, he was gay. “Don’t pretend!” he said. “I see that you were glad enough to meet me!”
“And the tea and cake!” she replied. “After five miles who would not be glad to meet them?”
“Exactly! It is my belief that if I had not met you, you would have fallen by the way. You want some one to look after you, Miss Audley.” The name was a caress.
Nor was the pleasure all their own. Great was the excitement of the townsfolk as they passed. “His lordship and a young lady?” cried half Riddsley, running to the windows. “Quick, or you will miss them!” Some wondered who she could be; more had seen her at church and could answer. “Miss Audley? The young lady who had come to live at the Gatehouse? Indeed! You don’t say so?” For every soul in Riddsley, over twelve years old, was versed in the Audley history, knew all about the suit, and could tell off the degrees of kindred as easily as they could tell the distance from the Audley Arms to the Portcullis. “Mr. Peter Audley’s daughter who lived in Paris? Lady-in-waiting to a Princess. And now walking with his lordship as if she had known him all her life! What would Mr. John say? D’you see how gay he looks! Not a bit what he is when he speaks to us! Wonder whether there’s anything in it!” And so on, and so on, with tit-bits from the history of Mary’s father, and choice eccentricities from the life of John Audley.