We all looked down at our
plates, except Jack Ives. He flung one glance (I saw it out of
the corner of my left eye) at Newhaven, another at Trix; then he
remarked kindly:
"We shall be uncommonly sorry to lose you, Newhaven."
Events began to happen now, and I will tell them as well as I am
able, supplementing my own knowledge by what I learned afterward
from Dora--she having learned it from the actors in the scene.
In spite of the solemn warning conveyed in Newhaven's intimation,
Trix, greatly daring, went off immediately after lunch for what
she described as "a long ramble" with Mr. Ives. There was,
indeed, the excuse of an old woman at the end of the ramble, and
Trix provided Jack with a small basket of comforts for the useful
old body; but the ramble was, we felt, the thing, and I was much
annoyed at not being able to accompany the walkers in the cloak
of darkness or other invisible contrivance. The ramble consumed
three hours--full measure. Indeed, it was half-past six before
Trix, alone, walked up the drive. Newhaven, a solitary figure,
paced up and down the terrace fronting the drive. Trix came on,
her head thrown back and a steady smile on her lips. She saw
Newhaven; he stood looking at her for a moment with what she
afterward described as an indescribable smile on his face, but
not, as Dora understood from her, by any means a pleasant one.
Yet, if not pleasant, there is not the least doubt in the world
that it was highly significant, for she cried out nervously:
"Why are you looking at me like that? What's the matter?"
Newhaven, still saying nothing, turned his back on her, and made
as if he would walk into the house and leave her there, ignored,
discarded, done with.
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