"And so"--she kept saying to herself--"we are to be no more than
friends." She sat still staring across the hall, trying to read. She was
fast losing control of the woman who was fenced in by social rule and
custom, trained to suppress emotion and to be the steady mistress of
insurgent passion. "My God," she murmured, "I should never have been
angry when he bought me, if I had not loved him--and now it is all
over--perhaps!"
Some readjustment there may have been, for when he reentered the hall an
hour later, she was reading. He said, as she looked up, "I mean to have a
long tramp to-morrow. I shall start early and walk to the mills and on to
the ore-beds. Then I shall return over the hills back of Westways, and
bring you, I hope, a few wood-pigeons. I may be a little late for
dinner."
"But, John, it is quite twelve miles, and you will have to carry a
gun--and your arm--"
John laughed happy laughter. "That was so like Aunt Ann!"
"Was it?--and now you will say 'yes, yes, you are quite right,' and walk
away and do just as you meant to do, like Uncle Jim."
"I may, but I will not walk further than Grey Pine." The air had
cleared--he had done some good!
"Good-night," he said, "it is late."
"Don't go too far, John. I shall read a while. This book is really so
interesting.
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