"You were. But you do love me a bit now, don't you?"
"What do you _think_?"
Anne leaned over her, covering her, supporting herself by the arms of
the garden chair. She brought her face close down, not kissing her, but
looking into her eyes and smiling, teasing in her turn.
"You love me," said Adeline; "but you'd cut me into little bits if it
would please Jerrold."
Anne drew back suddenly, straightened herself and turned away.
"Run off, you monkey, or you'll keep him waiting. I don't want you ...
Wait ... Where's Uncle Robert?"
"Down at the farm."
"Bother his old farm. Well--you might ask that father of yours to come
and amuse me."
"I'll go and get him now. Are you sure you don't want me?"
"Quite sure, you funny thing."
Anne ran, to make up for lost time.
She had made him go with her to the goldfish pond, made him walk round
the garden, listening to him and not listening, detaching herself
wilfully at every turn, to gather more and more of her blue flowers;
made him come into the drawing-room and look on while she arranged them
exquisitely in the tall Chinese jars. She had brought him out again to
sit on the terrace in the sun; and now, in her restlessness, she was up
again and calling to him to follow.
"It's baking here. Shall we go into the library?"
"If you like." He sighed as he said it.
As long as they stayed out of doors he felt safe and peaceful; but he
was afraid of the library. Once there, shut in with her in that room
which she was consecrating to their communion, heaven only knew what
sort of fool he might make of himself. Last time it was only the sudden
entrance of Robert that had prevented some such manifestation. And
to-day, her smile and her attentive attitude told him that she expected
him to be a fool, that she looked to his folly for her entertainment.
He had followed her like a dog; and as if he had been a dog her hand
patted a place on the couch beside her. And because he was a fool and
foredoomed he took it.
There was a silence. Then suddenly he made up his mind.
"Adeline, I'm very sorry, but I find I've got to go to-morrow."
"Go? Up to town?"
"Yes."
"But--you're coming back again."
"I'm--afraid--not."
"My dear John, you haven't been here a week. I thought you were going to
stay with us till your leave was up."
"So did I. But I find I can't."
"Whyever not?"
"Oh--there are all sorts of things to be seen to."