Whether the relief of unburdening his mind had served to clear her hearer's vision, or merely that the thought of the real Bob Charteris, most unsentimental of men, obtruded itself in all its incongruity with Honour's scheme for commemorating him, certain it is that instead of being grateful to her for falling in so exactly with his wishes, Gerrard was conscious of a distinct impatience. Was there no flesh and blood about the girl—no feeling, but merely sentiment? All unknown to himself, Gerrard had not been intending to suffer alone, and it was a blow to discover that what had meant to him a real and terrible renunciation was to her a mere matter of course, rather pleasurable than otherwise. He groaned as the truth forced itself upon him, and Honour looked up in alarm.
"I have done you harm—tired you," she said anxiously. "We must have another talk when you are better. I see my mother looking for me."
"Honour, it is time for us to go, dear," said Lady Cinnamond, coming in, and looking "like other people," as Mrs Jardine had said, in a huge halo of net and ribbon and flowers and blonde. Honour might make her mother's caps, but they had to be submitted for Sir Arthur's approbation, and as he was strongly of the opinion that there was nothing like roses for setting off a pretty face, the style was apt to incline to the decorated rather than the classical. Lady Cinnamond spoke kindly to Gerrard, and expressed the hope that he would look in now and then, glancing the while from him to Honour as though anxious to find something in their faces that might guide her what to say, but in vain. In sheer bewilderment she appealed to her daughter when they were alone.
"Tell me, Onora, did the poor fellow plead with you again to marry him?"
Honour turned quickly. "Oh no, mamma—how could he? Neither of us could ever think of it now."
"That was what made you cry, then?"
"Mamma! why should it? He was telling me about poor Mr Charteris, and I realised how little I had known him. I can say it to you, mamma—it is a privilege to feel that such a man has cared for one."
"Then if he had lived you would have married him, my poor little one?" cried her mother in dismay.
"How can I tell, mamma? One finds out these things too late. It is always so, isn't it?"
"And the poor young man who is not dead?" there was a hint of exasperation in Lady Cinnamond's voice.