interrupt him. She had stood there motionless, listening.Her face he could scarcely see, it was half turned away, but that seemednot unnatural. What then caused his sudden misgiving?
"Maisie," he repeated more timidly.
Then she turned--there was a burning spot of red on each cheek, her eyeswere flaming. Yet her voice was low and quiet.
"Hard on you!" she repeated. "I am too sorry for myself to think orcare much about you. I am--yes, I may own it, I am so horriblydisappointed. I had really allowed myself to think of you as sincere,as, in spite of your unmanly affectations, your contemptible conceit, anhonest man, a possible friend I was beginning to forgive your ill-bredinsolence to me as a stranger at the first, thinking there was somethingworthy of respect about you after all. But--oh, dear! And to try tohumbug me by this sham honesty--to dare to say you did not think youcould have cared for me enough to risk curtailing your ownself-indulgences, but that now--it is too pitiful. But, oh, dear--it istoo horribly disappointing!"
And as she looked at him again, he saw that her eyes were actually fullof tears.
His brain was in a whirl of bewilderment, bitterest mortification andindignation. For the moment the last had the best of it.
"You have a right to refuse me, to despise my weakness if you choose--whether it is generous to take advantage of my misplaced confidence inyou in having told you all--yes, _all_, is another matter. But onething you shall not accuse me of, and that is, of lying to you. I havenot said one untruthful word. I did--yes, I _did_ love you, Mary Ford--what I feel to you now is something more like--"
He hesitated.
"Hate, I suppose," she suggested mockingly. "All the better. It cannotbe a pleasant feeling to hate any one, and I do not wish you anythingpleasant. If I could believe," she went on slowly, "if I could believeyou had loved me, I think I should be glad, for it would be what youdeserve. I would have liked to make you love me from that very firstevening if I could--just to but unluckily I am not the sort of woman tosucceed in anything of that kind. However--"
She stopped; steps approaching them were heard through the stillness.Maisie turned. "I have nothing more to say, and I do not suppose youwish to continue this conversation. Good-bye, Mr Norreys."
And almost before he knew she had gone, she had quite disappeared.
Despard was a strong man, but for a moment or two he really thought hewas going to faint. He had grown deathly white while Maisie's hard,bitter words rained down upon him like hailstones; now that she had lefthim he grew so giddy that, had he not suddenly caught hold of a tree, hewould have fallen.
"It feels like a sunstroke," he said vaguely to himself, as he realisedthat his senses were deserting him, not knowing that he spoke aloud.
He did not know either that some one had seen him stagger, and almostfall. A slightly uneasy feeling had made Maisie stop as she hurried offand glance back, herself unobserved.
"He looked so fearfully white," she said; "do--do men always look likethat when girls refuse them, I wonder?"
For Maisie's experience of such things actually coming to the point,was, as should be the case with all true women, but small.
"I thought--I used to think I would enjoy seeing him humbled. But hedid seem in earnest."
And then came the glimpse of the young fellow's physical discomfiture.Maisie was horribly frightened; throwing all considerations but those ofhumanity to the winds she rushed back again.
"Perhaps he has heart-disease, though he looks so strong," she thought,"and if so--oh, perhaps I have killed him."
She was beside him in an instant. A rustic bench, which Despard was toodizzy to see, stood near. The girl seized hold of his arm and half drewit round her shoulder. He let her do so unresistingly.
"Try to walk a step or two, Mr Norreys," she said, "I am very strong.There, now," as he obeyed her mechanically, "here is a seat," and shesomehow half pushed, half drew him on to it. "Please smell this," andshe took out a little silver vinaigrette, of strong and pungentcontents, "I am never without this, for papa is so delicate, you know."
Despard tried to open his eyes, tried to speak, but the attempt was notvery successful. Maisie held the vinaigrette close to his nose; hestarted back, the strong essence revived him almost at once. He took itinto his own hand and smelt it again. Then his face grew crimson.
"I beg your pardon a thousand times. I am most ashamed, utterly ashamedof myself," he began.
But Maisie was too practically interested in his recovery to feelembarrassed.
"Keep sniffing at that thing," she said, "you will soon be all right.Only just tell me--" she added anxiously, "there isn't anything wrongwith your heart, is there?"
"For if so," she added to herself, "I must at all costs run and see ifthere is a doctor to be had."
Despard smiled--a successfully bitter smile.
"No, thank you," he said. "I am surprised that you credit me withpossessing one," he could not resist adding. "The real cause of thisabsurd faintness is a very prosaic one, I fancy. I went a long walk inthe hot sun this morning."
"Oh, indeed, that quite explains it," said Maisie, slightly nettled."Good-bye again then," and for the second time she ran off.
"All the same, I will get Conrad or somebody to come round that way,"she said to herself. "I will just say I saw a man looking as if he wasfainting. _He_ won't be likely to tell."
And Despard sat there looking at the little silver toy in his bands.
"I did not thank her," he said to himself. "I suppose I should havedone so, though she would have done as much, or more, for a starvingtramp on the road."
Then he heard again steps coming nearer like those which had startledMaisie away.
They had apparently turned off elsewhere the first time--this time theycame steadily on.
CHAPTER FOUR.
As Despard heard the steps coming nearer he looked round uneasily, witha vague idea of hurrying off so as to escape observation. But when hetried to stand up and walk, he found that anything like quick movementwas beyond him still. So he sat down again, endeavouring to look as ifnothing were the matter, and that he was merely resting.
Another moment or two, and a young man appeared, coming hastily alongthe path by which Despard had himself made his way into the shrubbery.He was quite young, two or three and twenty at most, fair, slight, andboyish-looking. He passed by Mr Norreys with but the slightest glancein his direction, but just as Despard was congratulating himself onthis, the new-comer stopped short, hesitated, and then, turning roundand lifting his hat, came up to him.
"Excuse me," he said, "do you know Lady Margaret--by sight? Has shepassed this way?"
He spoke quickly, and Mr Norreys did not catch the surname.
"No," he replied, "I have not the honour of the lady's acquaintance."
"I beg your pardon," said the other. "I've been sent to look for her,and I can't find her anywhere." Then he turned, but again hesitated.
"There's nothing the matter, is there? You've not hurt yourself--oranything? You look rather--as if a cricket ball had hit you, you know."
Mr Norreys smiled.
"Thank you," he said. "I have got a frightful pain in my head. I wasout too long in the sun this morning."
The boyish-looking man shook his head.
"Touch of sunstroke--eh? Stupid thing to do, standing in the sun thisweather. Should take a parasol; I always do. Then I can't be of anyservice?"
"Yes," said Despard, as a sudden idea struck him. "If you happen toknow my sister, Mrs Selby, by sight, I'd be eternally grateful to youif you would tell her I'm going home. I'll wait for her at the oldchurch, would you say?"
"Don't know her, but I'll find her out. Mrs Selby, of Markerslea, Isuppose? Well, take my advice, and keep on the shady side of the road."
"I shall go through the woods, thank you. My sister will understand."
With a friendly nod the young fellow went off.
Despard had been roused by the talk with him. He
got up now and wentslowly round to the back of the house--it was a place he had known inold days--thus avoiding all risk of coming across any of the guests. Bya path behind the stables he made his way slowly into the woods, and inabout half an hour's time he found himself where these ended at the highroad, along which his sister must pass. There was a stile near, overwhich, through a field, lay a footpath to the church, known thereaboutsas the old church, and here on the stile Mr Norreys seated himself toawait Mrs Selby.
"I've managed that pretty neatly," he said, trying to imagine he wasfeeling as usual. "I wonder who that fellow was. He seemed to haveheard Maddie's name though he
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