I came into the house—hot and angry.
Miss Gilmour—I refuse to call her anything else—had ruined my pleasant existence in every way.
March 6th
Is there no way of escaping that man? He called at the house yesterday. I was out and when I came in he was in the hall. If I had been told I could have sent the maid down to say that I was not at home. But I was caught.
He said he was thirsty in the hearing of the maid and she glanced questioningly at me so that all I could do was offer him some wine. Then I had to drink with him.
I took him into the small parlour which leads from the hall and where we entertain casual callers. I wondered how soon I could escape.
"This is most pleasant," he said.
I was silent, not being able to utter the blatant lie which even implied agreement would have been.
"I am so happy I came here," he went on. "It is such a delightful part of the world and London is within easy access."
"Wouldn't it be more convenient to be nearer?"
"Perhaps, but not so congenial. I can't tell you what a happy day
that was for me when I discovered your stepmother, and she introduced me to your household."
Again I was silent. I was a most ungracious hostess but then I was a most unwilling one.
"When do you expect the happy couple to return?" he asked.
"I gather they will be away for a month. It is hardly worth travelling so far for a shorter stay."
"And a honeymoon!" His dark eyes tried to hold mine and strangely enough I found it hard to draw mine away. He had a certain effect on me. I wished I could be indifferent but he had a sort of horrible fascination for me. I suppose that is how a rabbit feels when face to face with a stoat. "Can you imagine it? Florence ... Venice ... Rome ... I suppose they will visit all those places. How would you like to do that, Miss Ann Alice?"
"I am sure it would be most interesting."
"A great deal would depend on one's companion."
I looked at him pointedly. "That is always the case," I said, "whether one is in Venice or Venezuela."
"How do you know?" he asked laughing. "Have you ever visited Venezuela?"
"No. Nor Venice either."
"But you will one day, and when you do I hope it will be in the right company. I must confess never having been to Venezuela, but Venice ... well, that beautiful city is not unknown to me. I should like to show you Venice. You would enjoy that... drifting along the canals in a gondola ... or perhaps in Florence ... shopping on the Ponte Vecchio."
"I suppose we all have our dreams of seeing the world."
"The great thing is to put those plans into action. Don't you agree?"
"Let me give you some more wine." I was sorry I had spoken for it meant going near to him. His fingers touched mine as I gave him the glass.
"This is a very happy morning for me," he said.
I did not answer and he went on: "Will you ride with me tomorrow? I know of a very pleasant inn not far away. They serve the most delicious roast beef."
"It is out of the question," I replied. "I have commitments tomorrow."
"There is the next day."
"My time is fully occupied."
"What a busy young lady you are! I am determined to find some
time when you are free. I should like to see that establishment about which I have heard so much."
"Oh, are you interested in maps?"
"Fascinated by them. There is so much I want explained to me."
"Then you have come to the wrong person," I replied triumphantly. "I know little about them. You will have to go to the shop and ask them there. If my brother were here he would talk to you about that."
"Oh, so you have a brother?" Did I imagine it, or was he a little dismayed?
"Oh yes. He is away on some expedition. Exploring new territories. That's an essential part of map making."
"I see."
"He could have told you all you want to know. He was always very enthusiastic on the subject."
"He must be older than you."
"He is and he has never had much time to spare for his sister."
"Poor little lonely one!"
"Not lonely at all. I have so much to interest me. I don't really need anyone."
"So self-sufficient. That's a very good thing to be."
"I think so."
"Well, what about our outing?"
He was so persistent that it was difficult to give him a definite refusal without telling him the truth, which was that I did not like his company and that he faintly alarmed me in a way which I did not fully understand. It was instinct, I suppose. So I prevaricated.
"This week is out of the question. I am not sure about the next."
He understood, of course. He regarded me sardonically.
"I am determined to catch you one day," he said.
And his words sounded ominous.
How glad I was when he left.
March 10th
He has proved himself right. He has caught me at last. I wish I had the courage to tell him that I want him to leave me alone. One has been brought up with such a respect for good manners—one might say a reverence—that one is never able to be absolutely sincere.
So I have gone on eluding him, escaping as gracefully as I could. I guess he is the sort of man who enjoys a challenge and the more I am determined to escape, the more determined he is to catch me.
Yesterday was a lovely day. The fields were white and gold with daisies, buttercups and dandelions; and the horse chestnuts and sycamores were showing their green leaves.
There was a fresh wind and that delicious tang in the air which is
a herald of the spring. I love this time of the year when the birds seem to be going wild with joy.
Lovely springtime! And how good it is to gallop across the meadows and then slow down and trundle through the lanes and to look for wild flowers in the hedgerows and on the banks and try to remember the names Miss Bray had for them all.
It is ten days since my father and his new wife left for Italy. They will be back on the first of April. Then everything is going to be different. I am dreading their return. Sometimes I think I should be making plans. What will it be like when they come back? I should be prepared. But what can I do? There is no one whose advice I can ask. Unless it is Miss Bray... Mrs. Eggerton, mother-to-be. She will be absorbed in preparation for her baby and be quite unable to think of anything else. No, I cannot intrude on her blissful contentment. I must wait and see. Perhaps it will not be so bad. Perhaps I am exaggerating. After all, what harm has Miss Gilmour done to me? She has always been accommodating. She has never pressed me to study hard. She has been ready to be friendly. What is it? Why do I have this feeling of apprehension? It is the same with Mr. Featherstone.
I was not far from the inn where I had first seen him with Miss Gilmour when he came up to me.
"Hello," he said. "This is an unexpected pleasure."
"I am just on my way home."
"It seems to be your usual destination when we meet. In any case there is no hurry, is there?"
"I did not want to be late."
"I know you have many pressing engagements, but just once, eh? What about a little refreshment? It was in this very inn that we first met. So it is rather an occasion, is it not?"
I hesitated. Perhaps I was being rather foolish. I had been so curt with him and that was rather bad manners. And what harm could we do drinking a goblet of cider. Perhaps I could manage to convey to him subtly that I preferred to ride alone.
So I agreed; we dismounted and went into the inn.
We sat at the table where I had found him sitting with Miss Gilmour.
"Our honeymooners will soon be back," he said, when the cider was brought. "Your continued health and happiness, Miss Ann Alice."
"Thank you. And yours."
"I am glad you wish me well. For my future contentment, I have a feeling, will depend on you."