The master-passion had already supplanted St. Cleeve's natural
ingenuousness by subtlety.
'Would it be well for us to meet Mr. Torkingham just now?' he began.
'Certainly not,' she said hastily, and pulling the rein she instantly
drove down the right-hand road. 'I cannot meet anybody!' she murmured.
'Would it not be better that you leave me now?--not for my pleasure, but
that there may arise no distressing tales about us before we know--how to
act in this--this'--(she smiled faintly at him) 'heartaching extremity!' They were passing under a huge oak-tree, whose limbs, irregular with shoulders, knuckles, and elbows, stretched horizontally over the lane in a manner recalling Absalom's death. A slight rustling was perceptible
amid the leafage as they drew out from beneath it, and turning up his
eyes Swithin saw that very buttoned page whose advent they had dreaded,
looking down with interest at them from a perch not much higher than a
yard above their heads. He had a bunch of oak-apples in one hand,
plainly the object of his climb, and was furtively watching Lady
Constantine with the hope that she might not see him. But that she had
already done, though she did not reveal it, and, fearing that the latter
words of their conversation had been overheard, they spoke not till they
had passed the next turning.
She stretched out her hand to his. 'This must not go on,' she said
imploringly. 'My anxiety as to what may be said of such methods of
meeting makes me too unhappy. See what has happened!' She could not
help smiling. 'Out of the frying-pan into the fire! After meanly
turning to avoid the parson we have rushed into a worse publicity. It is
too humiliating to have to avoid people, and lowers both you and me.
The only remedy is not to meet.' 'Very well,' said Swithin, with a sigh. 'So it shall be.' And with smiles that might more truly have been tears they parted there
and then.