to say, on his side, to know all details of herlife. How could she broach the subject?
She glanced at him; he was not looking at her, but gazing before himwith a preoccupied expression. And in some degree to her relief, justas she was nervously clearing her throat to begin to speak, he suddenlyturned towards her.
"We have still fully a mile before we get to the fish ponds," he said,"but I do not think we need walk quite as fast as we are doing."
Philippa slackened her pace without speaking.
"I am so glad," Mr Gresham continued, "of this lucky chance of speakingto you uninterruptedly." Then for the first time he hesitated.
"I--you," he went on, "you must know, Miss Raynsworth, how much interestI have come to feel in--you, and--in all that concerns you."
Philippa glanced up quickly. What was coming? His words would normallyhave admitted of but one interpretation, but something in his tone, itscalm, almost business-like deliberateness, made her doubtful. For themoment she was on the point of availing herself of this preamble as anopening for what she had made up her mind to say. Then she hesitated,and while she did so he went on.
"I--I am not impulsive, Miss Raynsworth. I am considerate by nature,and in anything involving not only my own happiness but that of another,I am deeply conscious that it behoves me to be doubly so. A mistake maybe made in two minutes which a lifetime cannot undo. So you will notmisunderstand me if I confess that it has taken me many weeks--nay,months--to decide upon--"
There was no doubt now, he was going to propose to her, and with thedisappearance of all uncertainty on this head, her own resolutionrevived. In her nervousness she was for the moment unconscious of thecurious egotism of his words, of the entire absence of any nobility ofself-forgetfulness, any touch of impassioned feeling in his manner. Herown generosity of character failed to realise its absence in him; herone uppermost impulse was to prevent him in the slightest degree fromacting in the dark.
"Stop, Mr Gresham," she said, hurriedly; "before you say any more Ihave something to say to you."
She gave a little gasp; she _felt_ herself growing pale. Something madeher look up. Instead of the expression of surprise which she hadunconsciously expected to meet in his face, her quick instinctsperceived a slight stiffening, a sort of indescribable drawing-backinstead of eager protest that nothing she could say would alter hislonging for her to hear him out.
And could she have seen into her companion's mind at that moment, shewould scarcely have believed the reflections she would there have read.
"She _has_ something to tell," he was thinking to himself. "I have notbeen too cautious."
And aloud he said, quietly:
"As you wish, of course, Miss Raynsworth."
She plunged into it.
"You may remember," she began, "a little incident at Cannes whichannoyed you at the time--naturally so--and annoyed you still more, Iimagine, afterwards, when I refused to let you resent the impertinence Ihad been subjected to. I could not have done otherwise, as you willhear. I had promised my mother before leaving home to tell no one whatI am now going to tell you, without her leave."
As she spoke there was an imperceptible lightening of Mr Gresham'sexpression.
"Your mother knew!" he ejaculated.
"Of course," she exclaimed, too bent upon her recital to feel surpriseat his words. "This was how it all happened." And forcing herself tospeak with perfect calmness, she began at the beginning of the story andtold it all, simply and without comment, only omitting the names of anynot immediately concerned in the little drama--such as those of MichaelGresham and Mrs Shepton--and carefully exonerating from all shadow ofblame in the matter her sister and her parents.
When she had finished there fell a dead silence. With all herself-control Philippa could not bring herself to raise her eyes--theconflicting feelings in her mind made her almost physically giddy.
Then as the silence continued, a new element began to make itself felt.Her pride awoke and she reared her head half defiantly.
"Does he think I am going tamely to await his judgment upon me?" shethought to herself. "If so, he shall--"
But at that moment Mr Gresham's voice at last made itself heard.
"I have to thank you, Miss Raynsworth," he said, gently, "for giving meyour confidence. You will find it has not been misplaced. You havedone the best thing possible in telling me what you have done.Though--" he hesitated, "it is best to be perfectly candid," he went on,"I cannot but own that it is--a terrible disappointment to me to have toassociate anything of so extraordinary a kind with one whom--"
Philippa turned upon him abruptly, her face crimsoning. Something inhis measured tone, more than in his actual words, began slowly toinsinuate into her a strange, chill misgiving. And why at that momentdid there recur to her memory, in advantageous contrast to Mr Gresham'scarefully considered and gently expressed disapproval, his cousinMichael's stern, almost rough censure of what she had done?
Before she had time to open her lips, her companion began again.
"Excuse me," he said, "for interrupting you--I think you were going tospeak. I must ask you to listen to me first. I will be perfectlyfrank. I was not _wholly_ unprepared for this strange disclosure. Theincident at Cannes never quite left my memory, and it was followed up bycertain remarks or hints as to something peculiar in which you had beenmixed up, which came to my ears more recently."
"How? and where?" demanded Philippa. For one half instant the thoughtcrossed her brain--could Michael Gresham have been faithless to histrust?--but it was as quickly dismissed. Rough and rugged he might be,but _true_, she felt certain he was.
"I scarcely know that I have any right to reply to your question," saidMr Gresham, "and no purpose would be fulfilled by my doing so. Allthat was said to me was very vague, so vague that I have allowed myselfto be buoyed up by hopes--now alas! shattered--that the warn--hints Ishould say, rested on no real foundation. But do not mistake me, MissRaynsworth," as Philippa again seemed on the point of speaking.
"Your confidence, I repeat, has not been misplaced. I do not think--no,deliberately speaking--I do not think any lasting annoyance orill-results need be anticipated--especially when--" But here even _his_self-assurance shrank from completing the sentence. "I want to say," hewent on, "that notwithstanding all the pain and regret which I cannotdeny I am feeling, my attitude towards you is not radically shaken. Intime, I trust and believe, the whole miserable episode will beforgotten--not only by the few outsiders who may have suspected anymystery, but by myself."
He glanced at Philippa as he spoke, expecting to detect a flush ofgrateful relief on her face. What he did see there, was less easy tointerpret. She was no longer red, though, on the other hand, butslightly paler than usual, and she turned her eyes fully upon himwithout uttering a word.
"I must express myself still more plainly," he said, almost as ifaddressing a child, "as _my wife_, there will, I feel sure, be nothing,comparatively speaking, to dread in the future. Your candour hasdisarmed my scruples, for I know I can trust that never, under anyconceivable circumstances, could you again be tempted so to setpropriety and--and dignity at nought."
Still she did not speak.
"Miss Raynsworth," he said at last, "Miss Raynsworth--Philippa," heexclaimed. "Do you not understand me?" and for the first time a veryshadowy apprehension that possibly, just possibly he had appeared toosure of his ground suggested itself. "I--the circumstances have been soexceptional--I have had no opportunity so far of assuring you of thedepth and sincerity of my feelings towards you--of my devotion. Youmust allow they have been well tested. And they have stood the test! Iask you now to be my wife--my happiness is in your hands."
"And I, Mr Gresham," Philippa said at last, her dark eyes turned fullupon him, "decline, distinctly and definitely decline, the honour youhave done me." He grew scarlet.
"What do you mean?" he said, for once almost rudely. "What has all thisconversation been about, if this was what you intende
d? What was yourmotive for telling me all you have done? Have I offended you, and how?Your pride has taken fire in some unreasonable way. How can I assureyou that the thing will not weigh further with me--that--that--I shalldo my best to forget it? Where would you be so protected as in theposition of my wife?"
"I understand you perfectly, Mr Gresham," Philippa replied in a calmeven voice, "though at the same time I confess that previously to thisconversation I had lamentably failed to do so. On my side, I thank youfor your candour, and I repeat, as decidedly as words can convey mymeaning, that I decline the proposal you have made me."
He still seemed unable to believe her.
"Have you been playing with me