"Well, what about it? It doesn't matter when I dine, for I have come down alone here for a few days, a week perhaps, to get the house ready for my father and his friends."
"Yes, but my father dines at seven, and if there is one thing he hates it is being kept waiting for dinner."
She looked as though she thought that it did not much matter whether or no Mr. Knight waited for his dinner, then said:
"Well, you can come up to the Hall and dine with me."
"I think I had better not," he answered. "You see, we are getting on so well together--I mean my father and I, and I don't want to begin a row again. He would hate it."
"You mean, Godfrey, that he would hate your dining with me. Well, that is true, for he always loathed me like poison, and I don't think he is a man to change his mind. So perhaps you had better go. Do you think we shall be allowed to see each other again?" she added with sarca**.
"Of course. Let's meet here to-morrow at eleven. My father is going to a Diocesan meeting and won't be back till the evening. So we might spend the day together if you have nothing better to do."
"Let me see. No, I have no engagement. You see, I only came down half an hour before we met in the church."
Then they rose from their willow log and stood looking at each other, a very proper pair. Something welled up in him and burst from his lips.
"How beautiful you have grown," he said.
She laughed a little, very softly, and said:
"Beautiful! /I/? Those Alpine snows affect the sight, don't they? I felt like that on Popocatepetl. Or is it the twilight that I have to thank? Oh! you silly old Godfrey, you must have been living among very plain people."
"You /are/ beautiful," he replied stubbornly, "the most beautiful woman I ever saw. You always were, and you always will be."
Again she laughed, for who of her *** is there that does not like to be called beautiful, especially when she knows that it is meant, and that whatever her personal shortcomings, to the speaker she is beautiful? But this time the only answer she attempted was:
"You said you were late, and you are getting later. Run home, there's a good little boy."
"Why do you laugh at me?" he asked.
"Because I am laughing at myself," she answered, "and you should have your share."
Then very nearly he kissed her, only he was in such a hurry, also the willow log, a large one, was between them; possibly she had arranged that this should be so. So he could only press her hand and depart, muttering something indistinguishable. She watched him vanish, after which she sat down again on the log and really did laugh. Still, it was a queer kind of merriment, for by degrees it turned into little sobs and tears.
"You little fool, what has happened to you?" she asked herself. "Are you--are you--and if so, is he--? Oh! nonsense, and yet, something has happened, for I never felt like this before. I thought it was all rubbish, mere natural attraction, part of Nature's scheme and so on, as they write in the clever books. But it's more than that--at least it would be if I were---- Besides, I'm ages older than he is, although I was born six months later. I'm a woman full-grown, and he is only a boy. If he hadn't been a boy he would have taken his advantage when he must have known that I was weak as water, just for the joy of seeing him again. Now he has lost his chance, if he wanted one, for by to-morrow I shall be strong again, and there shall be no more----"
Then she looked at the backs of her hands which she could not see because of the gathering darkness, and as they were invisible, kissed them instead, just as though they belonged to someone else. After this she sat a while brooding and listening to the pulsing of her heart, which was beating with unusual strength this night. As she did so in that mysterious hour which sometimes comes to us in English summers, a great change fell upon her. When she sat down upon that fallen tree she was still a girl and virginal; when she rose from it she was a developed, loving woman. It was as though a spirit had visited her and whispered in her ear. She could almost hear the words. They were:
"Fulfil your fate. Love and be loved with body and with spirit, with heart and soul and strength."
At length she rose, and as she did so said aloud:
"I do not know who or what I have to thank for life and all that makes me, me. But I am glad to have been born, now, who have often wished that I had never been born. Even if I knew that I must pass away to-night, I should still be glad, since I have learned that there is something in me which cannot die. It came when that man kissed my hands, and it will endure for ever."
Godfrey was late for dinner, very late, and what was worse, his father /had/ waited for him.
"I suppose you forgot that I dined at seven, not at eight," was his cold greeting, for Mr. Knight, a large eater like many teetotallers, was one of those people who make a fetish of punctuality at meals, and always grow cross when they are hungry.
Godfrey, whose mind had not been steadied by the events of the afternoon, became confused and replied that he was extremely sorry, but the fact was he had met Isobel and, in talking to her, had not noticed the time.
"Isobel!" exclaimed his father, whose voice was now icy. "What Isobel?"
"I never knew but one, Father."
"Oh! I suppose you mean Miss Blake. I had no idea she was here; indeed, I thought she was still in Mexico. But doubtless you were better informed."
"No, Father, I met her accidentally. She has returned to England."
"That is obvious, Godfrey----"
"She has come down," he continued in a hurry, "to get the house ready for Sir John, who arrives shortly."
"Oh! has she? What a strange coincidence! All the years of our separation while you were way she was away, but within two days of your return she returns."
"Yes, it does seem odd," agreed the flustered Godfrey, "but it's lucky, isn't it, for, of course, I am glad to see her again."
Mr. Knight finished carving himself a helping of beef, and let the knife fall with a clatter into the dish. Then he said in carefully chosen words: