"Give me till the end of the week," I went on. "Let me be sure that my father persists in not answering either your letter or mine. Though I
_am_ my own mistress, nothing but his silence can justify me in going away secretly, and being married to you by a stranger. Don't press me, Oscar! It isn't very long to the end of the week."
Something seemed to startle him--something in my voice perhaps which told him that I was really distressed. He looked round at me quickly, and caught me with the tears in my eyes.
"Don't cry, for God's sake!" he said. "It shall be as you wish. Take your time. We will say no more about it till the end of the week."
He kissed me in a hurried startled way, and gave me his arm to walk back.
"Grosse is coming to-day," he continued. "He mustn't see you looking as you are looking now. You must rest and compose yourself. Come home."
I went back with him, feeling--oh, so sad and sore at heart! My last faint hope of a renewal of my once-pleasant intimacy with Madame Pratolungo was at an end. She stood revealed to me now as a woman whom I ought never to have known--a woman with whom I could never again exchange a friendly word. I had lost the companion with whom I had once been so happy; and I had pained and disappointed Oscar. My life has never looked so wretched and so worthless to me as it looked to-day on the pier at Ramsgate.
He left me at the door, with a gentle encouraging pressure of my hand.
"I will call again later," he said; "and hear what Grosse's report of you is, before he goes back to London. Rest, Lucilla--rest and compose yourself."
A heavy footstep sounded suddenly behind us as he spoke. We both turned round. Time had slipped by more rapidly than we had thought. There stood Herr Grosse, just arrived on foot from the railway station.
His first look at me seemed to startle and disappoint him. His eyes stared into mine through his spectacles with an expression of surprise and anxiety which I had never seen in them before. Then he turned his head and looked at Oscar with a sudden change--a change, unpleasantly suggestive (to my fancy) of anger or distrust. Not a word fell from his lips. Oscar was left to break the awkward silence. He spoke to Grosse.
"I won't disturb you and your patient now," he said. "I will come back in an hour's time."
"No! you will come in along with me, if you please. I have something, my young gentlemans, that I may want to say to you." He spoke with a frown on his bushy eyebrows, and pointed in a very peremptory manner to the house-door.
Oscar rang the bell. At the same moment my aunt, hearing us outside, appeared on the balcony above the door.
"Good morning, Mr. Grosse," she said. "I hope you find Lucilla looking her best. Only yesterday, I expressed my opinion that she was quite well again."
Grosse took off his hat sulkily to my aunt, and looked back again at me--looked so hard and so long, that he began to confuse me.
"Your aunt's opinions is not my opinions," he growled, close at my ear.
"I don't like the looks of you, Miss. Go in!"
The servant was waiting for us at the open door. I went an without making any answer. Grosse waited to see Oscar enter the house before him.
Oscar's face darkened as he joined me in the hall. He looked half angry, half confused. Grosse pushed himself roughly between us, and gave me his arm. I went up-stairs with him, wondering what it all meant.
