Phoebe’s expressive silence was her only reply. She turned a corner, and pointed to her mistress standing alone before the entrance of a damp and deserted summer-house.
Regina put her handkerchief to her eyes, when the maid had discreetly retired. “Oh,” she said softly, “I am afraid this is very wrong.”
Amelius removed the handkerchief by the exercise of a little gentle force, and administered comfort under the form of a kiss. Having opened the proceedings in this way, he put his first question, “Why did you leave London?”
“How could I help it!” said Regina, feebly. “They were all against me. What else could I do?”
It occurred to Amelius that she might, at her age, have asserted a will of her own. He kept his idea, however, to himself, and, giving her his arm, led her slowly along the path of the shrubbery. “You have heard, I suppose, what Mr. Farnaby expects of me?” he said.
“Yes, dear.”
“I call it worse than mercenary—I call it downright brutal.”
“Oh, Amelius, don’t talk so!”
Amelius came suddenly to a standstill. “Does that mean you agree with him?” he asked.
“Don’t be angry with me, dear. I only meant there was some excuse for him.”