The colour died out of Harry’s face.
“You mean that she will give me up?” he exclaimed.
“She has told me that she will not engage herself without my consent.”
A cold, intangible fear, like a breath from the inevitable, hovered round Harry for a moment, but he would not realize the shock it gave him.
“She thinks herself that you had better not meet,” added the Vicar, averting his look and fixing it on a bough where the last blossoms lingered in a ragged brown cluster; the bloom was almost over, and every puff of wind scattered the grass with withering petals.
“But I can’t go without a word. Oh, let me see her! Beg her to speak to me, Mr. Lewis. I saw her at the window as I came in. It is only for a moment—it is so little to ask.”
“Well, if you must, I will tell her. Oh, Harry, Harry, but you have made a mistake!” exclaimed the Vicar, unable to repress himself entirely as he turned away.
“I suppose Mr. Fenton wants to see me,” said Miss Ridgeway as she came down, her face set, in obedience to the summons.
“He does, and you must see him,” he replied, with decision. “Go into my study and I will send him there.”
She went in, her nostrils quivering; the unfairness of the world had never been so plain to her.