Part 22 (2/2)

”When do you go?”

”In a week or two--when there's room for me.”

He laughed.

”Oh! come then--there's time for a few more talks. Listen--you think I'm such an idle dog. I'm nothing of the sort. I've nearly finished a whole new play. Only--well, I couldn't talk to you about it--it's not a play for _jeunes filles_. But after all I might read you a few scenes. That wouldn't do any harm. You're so deuced clever!--your opinion would be worth having. I can tell you the managers are all after it! I'm getting letters by every post asking for parts. What do you say? Can you meet me somewhere? I'll choose some of the best bits. Just name your time!”

Her face had kindled, answering to the vivacity--the peremptoriness--in his. Her vanity was flattered at last; and he saw it.

”Send me a word!” he said under his breath. ”That little schoolroom maid--is she safe?”

”Quite!” said Hester, also under her breath, and smiling.

”You beautiful creature!” he spoke with low intensity. ”You lovely, wild thing!”

”Take care!” Hester sprang away from him as he put out an incautious hand. ”Come, Roddy! Goodnight!”

In a flash the gloom of the wood closed upon her, and she was gone.

Meryon walked on laughing to himself, and twisting his black moustache.

After some years of bad company and easy conquests, Hester's proud grace, her reckless beauty, her independent, satiric ways had sent a new stimulus through jaded nerves. Had he met her in London on equal terms with other men he knew instinctively that he would have had but small chance with her. It was the circ.u.mstances of this quiet country place, where young men of Hester's cla.s.s were the rarest of apparitions, and where Philip, flying from his creditors and playing the part of a needy Don Juan amid the picturesque dilapidations of the Abbey, was gravelled day after day for lack of occupation--it was these surroundings that had made the flirtation possible. Well, she was a handsome daredevil little minx. It amused him to make love to her, and in spite of his parsonical cousin, he should continue to do so. And that the proceeding annoyed Richard Meynell made it not less, but more, enticing. Parsons, cousins or no, must be kept in their place.

Hester ran home, a new laugh on her lip, and a new red on her cheek.

Several persons turned to look at her in the village street, but she took no notice of any one till, just as she was nearing the Cowroast, she saw groups round the door of the little inn, and a stream of men coming out.

Among them she perceived the Rector. He no sooner saw her than with an evident start he altered his course and came up to her.

”Where have you been, Hester?”

She chose to be offended by the inquiry, and answered pettishly that for once she had been out by herself without a keeper. He took no notice of her tone, and walked on beside her, his eyes on the ground. Presently she wondered whether he had heard her reply at all, he was so evidently thinking of something else. In her turn she began to ask questions.

”What's happening in the village? Why are those people coming out of the Cowroast?”

”There's been an inquest there.”

”On that old woman who was once a servant of ours?”

The Rector looked up quickly.

”Who told you anything about her?”

”Oh, Sarah heard from Tibbald--trust him for gossip! Was she off her head?”

”She died of disease of the brain. They found her dead in her bed.”

”Well, why shouldn't she? An excellent way to die! Good night, Uncle Richard--good night! You go too slow for me.”

She walked away with a defiant air, intended to show him that he was in her black books. He stood a moment looking after her, compunction and sad affection in his kind eyes.

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