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Updated: May 6, 2025
They had stopped, and he thought she trembled a little on his arm, but he could not be sure. He thought but he was thinking too much again; at least, Lady Pippinworth seemed to come to that conclusion, for with a galling little laugh she moved on. He saw with amazing clearness that he had thought sufficiently for one day.
On the day following his meeting with Lady Pippinworth came a note from Lady Rintoul inviting Grizel and him to lunch. They had been to Rintoul once or twice before, but this time Tommy said decisively, "We sha'n't go." He guessed who had prompted the invitation, though her name was not mentioned in it. "Why not?" Grizel asked. She was always afraid that she kept Tommy too much to herself.
"Why have you told me this?" he cried. "Was it not enough for you that I should think she did it?" "No," Lady Pippinworth answered, "that was not enough for me. I always wanted you to know that I had done it." "And you wrote that letter, you filled me with joy, so that you should gloat over my disappointment?" "Horrid of me, was it not!" said she.
"The wretch is so hopelessly in love with his wife," Lady Rintoul said, flinging a twig of heather at him. It was one of the many trivial things said on that occasion and long remembered; the only person who afterwards professed her inability to remember what Tommy said to her that day, and she to him, was Lady Pippinworth. "And yet you walked back to the castle with him," they reminded her.
He called her name again, and sprang after her; but the hand of another woman detained him. "Who is this girl?" Lady Pippinworth demanded fiercely; but he did not answer. He recoiled from her with a shudder that she was not likely to forget, and hurried on. All that night he searched for Grizel in vain. And all next day he searched like a man whose eyes would never close again.
Lady Pippinworth was not among them; he had not seen her to bid her good-bye, nor wanted to, for the better side of him had prevailed so he thought. It was a man shame-stricken and determined to kill the devil in him that went down that long avenue so he thought. A tall, thin woman was standing some twenty yards off, among some holly-trees.
Jerry," he replied, with emotion, "you must not ask me what I think of you." He always treated her with extraordinary respect and chivalry now, and it awed her. She had looked too, too round because she was in the company of Lady Pippinworth. Everyone seemed to be too round or too large by the side of that gifted lady, who somehow never looked too thin. She knew her power.
She was quite herself again. But for that moment she had been moved. He was convinced of it, and his first feeling was of exultation as in an achievement. I don't know what you are doing just now, Lady Pippinworth, but my compliments to you, and T. Sandys is swelling. There followed on this exultation another feeling as sincere devout thankfulness that he had gone no further.
Then, without any preliminary sparring, Lady Pippinworth immediately knocked him down; that is to say, she remarked, with a little laugh: "How very stout you are getting!" I swear by all the gods that it was untrue. He had not got very stout, though undeniably he had got stouter.
What was Lady Pippinworth beside this glorious woman? what was her damnable coldness compared to the love of Grizel? Was he unforgivable, or was it some flaw in the making of him for which he was not responsible? With clenched hands he asked himself these questions. This love that all his books were about what was it?
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