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To show their sense of the unimportance of the occasion, they walked quite slowly to the house, as if they were merely out for a ramble, and going to nothing special at all; or at most intending to pay a casual call and take a cup of tea. At this hour stir and bustle pervaded the interior of Winterborne's domicile from cellar to apple-loft.
He looked critically at her. "You ought not to feel like that, Marty." Her only reply was turning to take up the next tree; and they planted on through a great part of the day, almost without another word. Winterborne's mind ran on his contemplated evening-party, his abstraction being such that he hardly was conscious of Marty's presence beside him.
But she did not reply; and dropping her glance again, went on. Winterborne's face grew strange; he mused, and proceeded automatically with his work. Grace meanwhile had not gone far. She had reached a gate, whereon she had leaned sadly, and whispered to herself, "What shall I do?" A sudden fog came on, and she curtailed her walk, passing under the tree again on her return. Again he addressed her.
I'll do all I can for him as a friend; but as a pretender to the position of my son-in law, that can never be thought of more." And yet at that very moment the impracticability to which poor Winterborne's suit had been reduced was touching Grace's heart to a warmer sentiment on his behalf than she had felt for years concerning him.
"Good-night," he replied, inattentively, and went down-stairs. It was the first time since their marriage that he had left her without a kiss. Winterborne's house had been pulled down.
Winterborne's contract was completed, and the plantations were deserted. It was dusk; there were no leaves as yet; the nightingales would not begin to sing for a fortnight; and "the Mother of the Months" was in her most attenuated phase starved and bent to a mere bowed skeleton, which glided along behind the bare twigs in Fitzpiers's company.
But the chief rational interest of the letter to the reflective Grace lay in the chance that such a meeting as he proposed would afford her of setting her doubts at rest, one way or the other, on her actual share in Winterborne's death. The relief of consulting a skilled mind, the one professional man who had seen Giles at that time, would be immense.
"SHE was once; and I think " But Marty could not possibly explain the complications of her thoughts on this matter which were nothing less than one of extraordinary acuteness for a girl so young and inexperienced namely, that she saw danger to two hearts naturally honest in Grace being thrown back into Winterborne's society by the neglect of her husband. Mrs.
He groaned to the young man in a whisper, "This is a bruckle het, maister, I'm much afeared! Who'd ha' thought they'd ha' come so soon?" The bitter placidity of Winterborne's look adumbrated the misgivings he did not care to express. "Have you got the celery ready?" he asked, quickly. "Now that's a thing I never could mind; no, not if you'd paid me in silver and gold.
Others now arrived, among them Farmer Bawtree and the hollow-turner, and tea went off very well. Grace's disposition to make the best of everything, and to wink at deficiencies in Winterborne's menage, was so uniform and persistent that he suspected her of seeing even more deficiencies than he was aware of.
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