They went from gardens to greenhouses, from greenhouses to stables, and he was on the watch for the moment when she would reveal some little feminine pose or vanity, but, this morning, at least, she laid none bare.She did not strike him as a being of angelic perfections, but she was very modern and not likely to show easily any openings in her armour.
"Of course, I continue to be amazed," he commented, "though one ought not to be amazed at anything which evolves from your extraordinary country.In spite of your impersonal air, I shall persist in regarding you as my benefactor.But, to be frank, I always told Rosalie that if she would write to your father he would certainly put things in order.""She did write once, you will remember," answered Betty.
"Did she?" with courteous vagueness."Really, I am afraid I did not hear of it.My poor wife has her own little ideas about the disposal of her income."And Betty knew that she was expected to believe that Rosy had hoarded the money sent to restore the place, and from sheer weak miserliness had allowed her son's heritage to fall to ruin.And but for Rosy's sake, she might have stopped upon the path and, looking at him squarely, have said, "You are lying to me.And I know the truth."He continued to converse amiably.
"Of course, it is you one must thank, not only for rousing in the poor girl some interest in her personal appearance, but also some interest in her neighbours.Some women, after they marry and pass girlhood, seem to release their hold on all desire to attract or retain friends.For years Rosalie has given herself up to a chronic semi-invalidism.When the mistress of a house is always depressed and languid and does not return visits, neighbours become discouraged and drop off, as it were."If his wife had told stories to gain her sympathy his companion would be sure to lose her temper and show her hand.If he could make her openly lose her temper, he would have made an advance.
"One can quite understand that," she said."It is a great happiness to me to see Rosy gaining ground every day.She has taken me out with her a good many times, and people are beginning to realise that she likes to see them at Stornham.""You are very delightful," he said, "with your `She has taken me out.' When I glanced at the magnificent array of cards on the salver in the hall, I realised a number of things, and quite vulgarly lost my breath.The Dunholms have been very amiable in recalling our existence.But charming Americans--of your order--arouse amiable emotions.""I am very amiable myself," said Betty.
It was he who flushed now.He was losing patience at feeling himself held with such lightness at arm's length, and at being, in spite of himself, somehow compelled to continue to assume a jocular courtesy.
"No, you are not," he answered.
"Not?" repeated Betty, with an incredulous lifting of her brows.
"You are charming and clever, but I rather suspect you of being a vixen.At all events you are a spirited young woman and quick-witted enough to understand the attraction you must have for the sordid herd."And then he became aware--if not of an opening in her armour--at least of a joint in it.For he saw, near her ear, a deepening warmth.That was it.She was quick-witted, and she hid somewhere a hot pride.
"I confess, however," he proceeded cheerfully, "that notwithstanding my own experience of the habits of the sordid herd, I saw one card I was surprised to find, though really"--shrugging his shoulders--"I ought to have been less surprised to find it than to find any other.But it was bold.Isuppose the fellow is desperate."
"You are speaking of----?" suggested Betty.
"Of Mount Dunstan.Hang it all, it WAS bold!" As if in half-amused disgust.
As she had walked through the garden paths, Betty had at intervals bent and gathered a flower, until she held in one hand a loose, fair sheaf.At this moment she stooped to break off a spire of pale blue campanula.And she was--as with a shock --struck with a consciousness that she bent because she must--because to do so was a refuge--a concealment of something she must hide.It had come upon her without a second's warning.
Sir Nigel was right.She was a vixen--a virago.She was in such a rage that her heart sprang up and down and her cheek and eyes were on fire.Her long-trained control of herself was gone.And her shock was a lightning-swift awakening to the fact that she felt all this--she must hide her face--because it was this one man--just this one and no other--who was being dragged into this thing with insult.
It was an awakening, and she broke off, rather slowly, one--two--three--even four campanula stems before she stood upright again.
As for Nigel Anstruthers--he went on talking in his low-pitched, disgusted voice.
"Surely he might count himself out of the running.There will be a good deal of running, my dear Betty.You fair Americans have learned that by this time.But that a man who has not even a decent name to offer--who is blackballed by his county--should coolly present himself as a pretendant is an insolence he should be kicked for."Betty arranged her campanulas carefully.There was no exterior reason why she should draw sword in Lord Mount Dunstan's defence.He had certainly not seemed to expect anything intimately interested from her.His manner she had generally felt to be rather restrained.But one could, in a measure, express one's self.
"Whatsoever the `running,' " she remarked, "no pretendant has complimented me by presenting himself, so far--and Lord Mount Dunstan is physically an unusually strong man.""You mean it would be difficult to kick him? Is this partisanship? I hope not.Am I to understand," he added with deliberation, "that Rosalie has received him here?""Yes."
"And that you have received him, also--as you have received Lord Westholt?""Quite."