the memory of her last moment with him, up in his room amid the luggage
that she had helped to pack, very nearly overcame her. It seemed so
hard to have to meet him coldly, formally, to have to wait--who knew how
long--for a minute with him alone! And he was so polite, so beautifully
considerate, with all the manners of a host; hoping she wasn't tired,
hoping Mr. Stormer had brought his fishing-rod, though they had lots,
of course, they could lend him; hoping the weather would be fine; hoping
that they wouldn't mind having to drive three miles, and busying himself
about their luggage. All this when she just wanted to take him in her
arms and push his hair back from his forehead, and look at him!

He did not drive with them--he had thought they would be too
crowded--but followed, keeping quite close in the dust to point out the
scenery, mounted on a 'palfrey,' as her husband called the roan with the
black swish tail.

This countryside, so rich and yet a little wild, the independent-looking
cottages, the old dark cosy manor-house, all was very new to one used
to Oxford, and to London, and to little else of England. And all was
delightful. Even Mark's guardian seemed to her delightful. For Gordy,
when absolutely forced to face an unknown woman, could bring to the
encounter a certain bluff ingratiation. His sister, too, Mrs. Doone,
with her faded gentleness, seemed soothing.

When Anna was alone in her room, reached by an unexpected little
stairway, she stood looking at its carved four-poster bed and the wide
lattice window with chintz curtains, and the flowers in a blue bowl.
Yes, all was delightful. And yet! What was it? What had she missed?
Ah, she was a fool to fret! It was only his anxiety that they should be
comfortable, his fear that he might betray himself. Out there those last