Even in the hour of Melbury's greatest assurance Winterborne had
harbored a suspicion that no law, new or old, could undo Grace's
marriage without her appearance in public; though he was not
sufficiently sure of what might have been enacted to destroy by his own
words her pleasing idea that a mere dash of the pen, on her father's
testimony, was going to be sufficient. But he had never suspected the
sad fact that the position was irremediable.
Poor Grace, perhaps feeling that she had indulged in too much fluster
for a mere kiss, calmed herself at finding how grave he was. "I am
glad we are friends again anyhow," she said, smiling through her tears.
"Giles, if you had only shown half the boldness before I married that
you show now, you would have carried me off for your own first instead
of second. If we do marry, I hope you will never think badly of me for
encouraging you a little, but my father is SO impatient, you know, as
his years and infirmities increase, that he will wish to see us a
little advanced when he comes. That is my only excuse."
To Winterborne all this was sadder than it was sweet. How could she so
trust her father's conjectures? He did not know how to tell her the
truth and shame himself. And yet he felt that it must be done. "We
may have been wrong," he began, almost fearfully, "in supposing that it
can all be carried out while we stay here at Hintock. I am not sure
but that people may have to appear in a public court even under the new
Act; and if there should be any difficulty, and we cannot marry after
all--"
Her cheeks became slowly bloodless. "Oh, Giles," she said, grasping
his arm, "you have heard something! What--cannot my father conclude it
there and now? Surely he has done it? Oh, Giles, Giles, don't deceive
me. What terrible position am I in?"
He could not tell her, try as he would. The sense of her implicit
trust in his honor absolutely disabled him. "I cannot inform you," he
murmured, his voice as husky as that of the leaves underfoot. "Your
father will soon be here. Then we shall know. I will take you home."
Inexpressibly dear as she was to him, he offered her his arm with the
most reserved air, as he added, correctingly, "I will take you, at any
rate, into the drive."
Thus they walked on together. Grace vibrating between happiness and
misgiving. It was only a few minutes' walk to where the drive ran, and
they had hardly descended into it when they heard a voice behind them
cry, "Take out that arm!"