"Green," corrected Reggie, suavely. "Yes, that's what I want, Lady
Gridborough; and I shall be eternally grateful, if you will consent to
perform that operation which has hitherto been considered an impossible
one to your sex."
"Operation!" repeated Lady Gridborough, staring at him. "What are you
talking about now? What operation?"
"Holding your tongue, dear Lady Gridborough," said Reggie. "Though not
fatal, it is always painful; but you really must perform it on this
occasion--for Miss Grant's sake, to say nothing of mine."
As the jingle drove on, Derrick and Celia stood watching it in silence.
She had seen the sudden change in Lady Gridborough's manner at sight of
Derrick; the old lady's agitation had been too obvious, the cut had been
too direct, to be mistaken. Celia's heart ached for her lover, and she
could not bring herself to look up at him; but her hand stole into his
and grasped it with loving pity and sympathy.
"You see!" said Derrick, with a touch of bitterness. "The man you are
going to marry is an outcast and pariah, Celia. That old lady was once a
friend. I was fond of her, am fond of her still, and she, I think, was
fond of me; but you see how she regards me now. How can I ask you to
marry me! I'll give you back your promise, Celia."
"Generous offer refused without thanks," said Celia, trying to speak
lightly; then her voice grew grave and sweet, as she said, in a low
voice, "Do you think it would make any difference to me if a hundred
Lady Gridboroughs, if all the world, turned their backs on you? She does
not know what I know; that you are innocent, that you sacrificed
yourself, are still sacrificing yourself, for another person?"
"You're speaking about the forged cheque," said Derrick, moodily. "But
there's something else. See here, dearest--God bless you for those sweet
words, for your trust in me!--but there's something else. It was not
because of the cheque that Lady Gridborough cut me just now--I'm not
sure that she knows anything about it--but for something else she thinks
me guilty of; something worse than forgery, something unutterably mean
and base--Oh, I've got to tell you!"
"Not now," said Celia, resolutely. "If you were to tell me now, I should
feel that you think Lady Gridborough's conduct had forced you to do it;
and I want you to tell me, if ever you do so, of your own free will."
She paused, then she put her hands on his shoulder and looked up at him,
with all her soul in her eyes. "Dearest, don't you know that it is a joy
to me to feel that I am trusting you, that I am proving my love for you?
Oh, let it go at that"--how soon she had caught his phrases! "And now
come back a little way through the woods with me. And try to forget Lady
Gridborough. Why, sir," she went on, with a tender, bewitching
playfulness, though her eyes were moist, "you ought not to be thinking
of any lady, old or young, but me."