Feeling annoyed and ashamed and resentful at this cross-questioning, Gilbert presently bade them good night curtly enough, and strolled off into the darkness towards his own house. As he disappeared, Mrs. Ewart-Crane turned to Jordan Tant and the girl.
"Well—one thing I have discovered, at least," she said viciously. "Gilbert takes the girl with him to-morrow on this extraordinary voyage."
"My dear mother!" Enid rose with an appearance of indignation. "He wouldn't do such a thing."
"I don't know what to make of the fellow myself," said Jordan Tant, with a shake of the head. "I don't think he means any harm; I simply think he's got himself into a deuce of a hole, and doesn't quite know how to get out of it. That's my opinion. As for the girl—well, of course she's decidedly pretty—and nice-mannered—and all that kind of thing; and so I suppose——"
"I think we will wish you good night, Jordan," said Mrs. Ewart-Crane, rising. And Jordan Tant took the hint, and went off to his room at the village inn.
Gilbert Byfield walked far that night under the stars, and smoked many pipes. Now he was right, and now he was wrong; now he knew that this thing was good in the sight of that wholly impossible heaven that smiles upon unconventional things when they are done for a good and proper purpose. Now there was no other way—and now there was a better way, by which he might speak the truth, and send her back to some Arcadia Street where she could struggle on, and yet live the old clean fine life. Now he hated himself for what he had settled to do; now he urged against a pricking conscience that Bessie loved him, and that nothing else mattered. Still, with those warring thoughts he got back in the small hours, and let himself in, and went to bed.
There was much to be done on the following day, and he determined to start early. He made all necessary arrangements with the man in charge of the house; left a brief note for Bessie, to be given into her hands alone, in which he explained carefully what she was to do. Then, avoiding his strange guests, who fortunately for him were in the habit of rising late, he found his way to the little station, and left Fiddler's Green behind him.
There followed a hurried rush through London, and the settling of various affairs there, and the dispatch of telegrams. Late in the afternoon he found himself at Newhaven, with a small hillock of luggage, and facing a man who had the appearance of being half landsman and half seaman, and who was respectfully touching his cap to him.
"Ah, Pringle—so you had my wire," he said cheerfully.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. And everything's ready, sir," said Pringle.