I LEFT the house for my morning ride.
Michael was not in his customary spirits. With some difficulty, I induced him to tell me the reason. He had decided on giving notice to leave his situation in the General’s employment. As soon as I could command myself, I asked what had happened to justify this incomprehensible proceeding on his part. He silently offered me a letter. It was written by the master whom he had served before he came to us; and it announced that an employment as secretary was offered to him, in the house of a gentleman who was “interested in his creditable efforts to improve his position in the world.”
What it cost me to preserve the outward appearance of composure as I handed back the letter, I am ashamed to tell. I spoke to him with some bitterness. “Your wishes are gratified,” I said; “I don’t wonder that you are eager to leave your place.” He reined back his horse and repeated my words. “Eager to leave my place? I am heart-broken at leaving it.” I was reckless enough to ask why. His head sank. “I daren’t tell you,” he said. I went on from one imprudence to another. “What are you afraid of?” I asked. He suddenly looked up at me. His eyes answered: “You.”
Is it possible to fathom the folly of a woman in love? Can any sensible person imagine the enormous importance which the veriest trifles assume in her poor little mind? I was perfectly satisfied—even perfectly happy, after that one look. I rode on briskly for a minute or two—then the forgotten scene at the stable recurred to my memory. I resumed a foot-pace and beckoned to him to speak to me.
“Lady Claudia’s bookseller lives in the City, doesn’t he?” I began.
“Yes, miss.”
“Did you walk both ways?”
“Yes.”
“You must have felt tired when you got back?”
“I hardly remember what I felt when I got back—I was met by a surprise.”