But he checked himself in time, and instead of pressing his lips upon hers, only kissed her hands, first one and then the other, for quite a long while: nor did she attempt to deny him, perhaps because a wild impulse took possession of her to kiss his in answer. Yes, his hands, or his lips, or even his coat or anything about him. Oh! it made her very angry, but there it was, for something rushed up in her which she had never felt before, something mad and wild and sweet.
She wrenched herself away at last and began to scold him again.
"What have you been doing all these years? Why did you never write to me?"
"Because I was too proud, as you never wrote to me."
"Too proud! Pride will be your ruin; it goes before every sort of fall. Besides, I did write to you. I can show you a copy of the letter, if I haven't torn it up."
"I never got it; did you post it yourself?"
"Yes, that is I took it to the Abbey House and left it to be addressed there."
"Oh! then perhaps it is there still," and he looked at her.
"Nonsense, no one could have been so mean, not even----"
He shrugged his shoulders, a trick he had learned abroad, then said: "Well, it doesn't matter now, does it, Isobel?"
"Yes, it matters a lot. Years of misunderstanding and doubt and loss, when life is so short. I might have married or all sorts of things."
"What has my not receiving your letter got to do with that?" he asked, astonished.
"Nothing at all. Why do you ask such silly questions? I only meant that if I had married I should not have been here, and we should never have met again."
"Well, you are here and we have met in this church, where we parted."
"Yes, it's odd, isn't it? I wish it had been somewhere else. I don't like this gloomy old place with its atmosphere of death. Come outside."
They went, and when they were through the churchyard gates walked at hazard towards the stream which ran through the grounds of Hawk's Hall. Here they sat down upon a fallen willow, watching the swallows skim over the surface of the placid waters, and for a while were silent. They had so much to say to each other that it seemed as though scarcely they knew where to commence.
"Tell me," she said at length, "were you in the square garden on the night of that dance at which I came out? Oh! I see by your look that you were. Then why did you not speak to me instead of standing behind a bush, watching in that mean fashion?"