The next day was Darrow's last at Givre and, foreseeing thatthe afternoon and evening would have to be given to thefamily, he had asked Anna to devote an early hour to thefinal consideration of their plans. He was to meet her inthe brown sitting-room at ten, and they were to walk down tothe river and talk over their future in the little pavilionabutting on the wall of the park.
It was just a week since his arrival at Givre, and Annawished, before he left, to return to the place where theyhad sat on their first afternoon together. Hersensitiveness to the appeal of inanimate things, to thecolour and texture of whatever wove itself into thesubstance of her emotion, made her want to hear Darrow'svoice, and to feel his eyes on her, in the spot where blisshad first flowed into her heart.
That bliss, in the interval, had wound itself into everyfold of her being. Passing, in the first days, from a highshy tenderness to the rush of a secret surrender, it hadgradually widened and deepened, to flow on in redoubledbeauty. She thought she now knew exactly how and why sheloved Darrow, and she could see her whole sky reflected inthe deep and tranquil current of her love.
Early the next day, in her sitting-room, she was glancingthrough the letters which it was Effie's morning privilegeto carry up to her. Effie meanwhile circled inquisitivelyabout the room, where there was always something new toengage her infant fancy; and Anna, looking up, saw hersuddenly arrested before a photograph of Darrow which, theday before, had taken its place on the writing-table.
Anna held out her arms with a faint blush. "You do likehim, don't you, dear?""Oh, most awfully, dearest," Effie, against her breast,leaned back to assure her with a limpid look. "And so doGranny and Owen--and I DO think Sophy does too," sheadded, after a moment's earnest pondering.
"I hope so," Anna laughed. She checked the impulse tocontinue: "Has she talked to you about him, that you're sosure?" She did not know what had made the question spring toher lips, but she was glad she had closed them beforepronouncing it. Nothing could have been more distasteful toher than to clear up such obscurities by turning on them thetiny flame of her daughter's observation. And what, afterall, now that Owen's happiness was secured, did it matter ifthere were certain reserves in Darrow's approval of hismarriage?
A knock on the door made Anna glance at the clock. "There'sNurse to carry you off.""It's Sophy's knock," the little girl answered, jumping downto open the door; and Miss Viner in fact stood on thethreshold.
"Come in," Anna said with a smile, instantly remarking howpale she looked.
"May Effie go out for a turn with Nurse?" the girl asked.
"I should like to speak to you a moment.""Of course. This ought to be YOUR holiday, as yesterdaywas Effie's. Run off, dear," she added, stooping to kissthe little girl.
When the door had closed she turned back to Sophy Viner witha look that sought her confidence. "I'm so glad you came,my dear. We've got so many things to talk about, just youand I together."The confused intercourse of the last days had, in fact, leftlittle time for any speech with Sophy but such as related toher marriage and the means of overcoming Madame deChantelle's opposition to it. Anna had exacted of Owen thatno one, not even Sophy Viner, should be given a hint of herown projects till all contingent questions had been disposedof. She had felt, from the outset, a secret reluctance tointrude her securer happiness on the doubts and fears of theyoung pair.
From the sofa-corner to which she had dropped back shepointed to Darrow's chair. "Come and sit by me, dear. Iwanted to see you alone. There's so much to say that Ihardly know where to begin."She leaned forward, her hands clasped on the arms of thesofa, her eyes bent smilingly on Sophy's. As she did so,she noticed that the girl's unusual pallour was partly dueto the slight veil of powder on her face. The discovery wasdistinctly disagreeable. Anna had never before noticed, onSophy's part, any recourse to cosmetics, and, much as shewished to think herself exempt from old-fashionedprejudices, she suddenly became aware that she did not likeher daughter's governess to have a powdered face. Then shereflected that the girl who sat opposite her was no longerEffie's governess, but her own future daughter-in-law; andshe wondered whether Miss Viner had chosen this odd way ofcelebrating her independence, and whether, as Mrs. OwenLeath, she would present to the world a bedizenedcountenance. This idea was scarcely less distasteful thanthe other, and for a moment Anna continued to consider herwithout speaking. Then, in a flash, the truth came to her:
Miss Viner had powdered her face because Miss Viner had beencrying.
Anna leaned forward impulsively. "My dear child, what's thematter?" She saw the girl's blood rush up under the whitemask, and hastened on: "Please don't be afraid to tell me.
I do so want you to feel that you can trust me as Owen does.
And you know you mustn't mind if, just at first, Madame deChantelle occasionally relapses."She spoke eagerly, persuasively, almost on a note ofpleading. She had, in truth, so many reasons for wantingSophy to like her: her love for Owen, her solicitude forEffie, and her own sense of the girl's fine mettle. She hadalways felt a romantic and almost humble admiration forthose members of her sex who, from force of will, or theconstraint of circumstances, had plunged into the conflictfrom which fate had so persistently excluded her. Therewere even moments when she fancied herself vaguely to blamefor her immunity, and felt that she ought somehow to haveaffronted the perils and hardships which refused to come toher. And now, as she sat looking at Sophy Viner, so small,so slight, so visibly defenceless and undone, she stillfelt, through all the superiority of her worldly advantagesand her seeming maturity, the same odd sense of ignoranceand inexperience. She could not have said what there was inthe girl's manner and expression to give her this feeling,but she was reminded, as she looked at Sophy Viner, of theother girls she had known in her youth, the girls who seemedpossessed of a secret she had missed. Yes, Sophy Viner hadtheir look--almost the obscurely menacing look of KittyMayne...Anna, with an inward smile, brushed aside the imageof this forgotten rival. But she had felt, deep down, atwinge of the old pain, and she was sorry that, even for theflash of a thought, Owen's betrothed should have remindedher of so different a woman...
She laid her hand on the girl's. "When his grandmother seeshow happy Owen is she'll be quite happy herself. If it'sonly that, don't be distressed. Just trust to Owen--and thefuture."Sophy Viner, with an almost imperceptible recoil of herwhole slight person, had drawn her hand from under the palmenclosing it.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about--the future.""Of course! We've all so many plans to make--and to fit intoeach other's. Please let's begin with yours."The girl paused a moment, her hands clasped on the arms ofher chair, her lids dropped under Anna's gaze; then shesaid: "I should like to make no plans at all...just yet...""No plans?""No--I should like to go away...my friends the Farlows wouldlet me go to them..." Her voice grew firmer and she liftedher eyes to add: "I should like to leave today, if you don'tmind."Anna listened with a rising wonder.
"You want to leave Givre at once?" She gave the idea amoment's swift consideration. "You prefer to be with yourfriends till your marriage? I understand that--but surelyyou needn't rush off today? There are so many details............