`In shire,' was the brief reply: and there was something so cold and dry in the manner of it, that I was effectually deterred from requesting a more definite account.
`When will she return to Grassdale?' was my next question.
`I don't know.'
`Confound it!' I muttered.
`Why, Markham?' asked my companion, with an air of inns cent surprise.
But I did not deign to answer him, save by a look of silent, sullen contempt, at which he turned away, and contemplated the carpet with a slight smile, half pensive, half amused; but quickly looking up, he began to talk of other subjects, trying to draw me into a cheerful and friendly conversation; but I was too much irritated to discourse with him, and soon took leave.
You see Lawrence and I somehow could not manage to get on very well together. The fact is, I believe, we were both of us a little too touchy. It is a troublesome thing Halford, this susceptibility to affronts where none are intended. I am no martyr to it now, as you can bear me witness:
I have learned to be merry and wise, to be more easy with myself and more indulgent to my neighbours, and I can afford to laugh at both Lawrence and you.
Partly from accident, partly from wilful negligence on my part (for I was really beginning to dislike him), several weeks elapsed before I saw my friend again. When we did meet, it was he that sought me out. One bright morning early in June, he came into the field where I was just commencing my hay harvest.
`It is long since I saw you, Markham,' said he after the first few words had passed between us. `Do you never mean to come to Woodford again?'
`I called once, and you were out.'
`I was sorry: but that was long since; I hoped you would call again; and now, I have called, and you were out--which you generally are, or I would do myself the pleasure of calling more frequently--But being determined to see you this time, I have left my pony in the lane, and come over hedge and ditch to join you; for I am about to leave Woodford for a while, and may not have the pleasure of seeing you again for a month or two.'
`Where are you going?'
`To Grassdale first,' said he, with a half-smile he would willingly have suppressed if he could.
`To Grassdale! Is she there, then?'
`Yes, but in a day or two she will leave it to accompany Mrs.
Maxwell to F for the benefit of the sea air; and I shall go with them.'
(F was at that time a quiet but respectable watering place: it is considerably more frequented now.)
Lawrence seemed to expect me to take advantage of this circumstance to intrust him with some sort of a message to his sister; and I believe he would have undertaken to deliver it without any material objections, if I had had the sense to ask him; though of course he would not offer to do so, if I was content to let it alone. But I could not bring myself to make the request; and it was not till after he was gone, that I saw how fair an opportunity I had lost;and then, indeed, I deeply regretted my stupidity and my foolish pride; but it was now too late to remedy the evil.
He did not return till towards the latter end of August. He wrote to me twice or thrice from F; but his letters were most provokingly unsatisfactory, dealing in generalities or in trifles that I cared nothing about, or replete with fancies and reflections equally unwelcome to me at the time,--saying next to nothing about his sister, and little more about himself. I would wait, however, till he came back: perhaps I could get something more out of him then. At all events, I would not write to her now, while she was with him and her aunt, who doubtless would be still more hostile to my presumptuous aspirations than himself. When she was returned to the silence and solitude of her own home it would be my fittest opportunity.
When Lawrence came, however, he was as reserved as ever on the subject of my keen anxiety. He told me that his sister had derived considerable benefit from her stay at F--, that her son was quite well, and--alas! that both of them were gone, with Mrs. Maxwell, back to Staningley;--and there they stayed at least three months. But instead of boring you with my chagrin, my expectations and disappointments, my fluctuations of dull despondency and flickering hope, my varying resolutions, now to drop it, and now to persevere--now to make a bold push, and now to let things pass and patiently abide my time,--I will employ myself in settling the business of one or two of the characters, introduced in the course of this narrative, whom I may not have occasion to mention again.
