Guy Strangways had just returned from the Park for his fishing-rod and angler's gear, when he was met in the hall by the grave and courteous butler, who presented a tiny pencilled note from Lady Alice, begging him to spare her half an hour in Lady Mary's boudoir.
Perhaps it was a bore. But habitual courtesy is something more than "mouth honour, breath." Language and thought react upon one another marvellously. To restrain its expression is in part to restrain the feeling; and thus a well-bred man is not only in words and demeanour, but inwardly and sincerely, more gracious and noble than others.
Exactly as Guy Strangways arrived on the lobby, a little gloved hand--it was Beatrix's--was on the door-handle of Lady Mary's boudoir. It was withdrawn, and she stood looking for a second or two at the young gentleman, who had evidently been going in the same direction. He, too, paused; then, with a very low bow, advanced to open the door for Miss Marlowe.
"No, thank you--I--I think I had better postpone my visit to grandmamma till I return. I'm going to the garden, and should like to bring her some flowers."
"I'm afraid I have arrived unluckily--she would, I know, have been so glad to see you," said Guy Strangways.
"Oh, I've seen her twice before to-day. You were going to make her a little visit now."
"I--if you wish it, Miss Marlowe, I'll defer it."
"She would be very little obliged to me, I'm sure; but I must really go," said Beatrix, recollecting on a sudden that there was no need of so long a parley.
"It would very much relieve the poor secretary's labours, and make his little period of duty so much happier," said Guy, forgetting his wise resolutions strangely.
"I am sure grandmamma would prefer seeing her visitors singly--it makes a great deal more of them, you know."
And with a little smile and such a pretty glow in her cheeks, she passed him by. He bowed and smiled faintly too, and for a moment stood gazing after her into the now vacant shadow of the old oak wainscoting, as young Numa might after his vanished Egeria, with an unspoken, burning grief and a longing at his heart.
"I'm sure she can't like me--I'm sure she _dis_likes me. So much the better--Heaven knows I'm glad of it."