"Are you hurt?" cried Shelton breathlessly, and he, too, grabbed the bridle. "Those beastly cars!""I don't know," she said. "Please don't; he won't let strangers touch him."Shelton let go, and watched her coax the horse. She was rather tall, dressed in a grey habit, with a grey Russian cap upon her head, and he suddenly recognised the Mrs. Foliot whom they had been talking of at lunch.
"He 'll be quiet now," she said, "if you would n't mind holding him a minute."She gave the reins to him, and leaned against the gate. She was very pale.
"I do hope he has n't hurt you," Shelton said. He was quite close to her, well able to see her face--a curious face with high cheek-bones and a flatfish moulding, enigmatic, yet strangely passionate for all its listless pallor. Her smiling, tightened lips were pallid;pallid, too, her grey and deep-set eyes with greenish tints; above all, pale the ashy mass of hair coiled under her grey cap.
"Th-thanks!" she said; "I shall be all right directly. I'm sorry to have made a fuss."She bit her lips and smiled.
"I 'm sure you're hurt; do let me go for---" stammered Shelton.
"I can easily get help."
"Help!" she said, with a stony little laugh; "oh, no, thanks!"She left the gate, and crossed the road to where he held the horse.
Shelton, to conceal embarrassment, looked at the horse's legs, and noticed that the grey was resting one of them. He ran his hand down.
"I 'm afraid," he said, "your horse has knocked his off knee; it's swelling."She smiled again.
"Then we're both cripples."
"He'll be lame when he gets cold. Would n't you like to put him in the stable here? I 'm sure you ought to drive home.""No, thanks; if I 'm able to ride him he can carry me. Give me a hand up."Her voice sounded as though something had offended her. Rising from inspection of the horse's leg, Shelton saw Antonia and Toddles standing by. They had come through a wicketgate leading from the fields.
The latter ran up to him at once.
"We saw it," he whispered--"jolly smash-up. Can't I help?""Hold his bridle," answered Shelton, and he looked from one lady to the other.
There are moments when the expression of a face fixes itself with painful clearness; to Shelton this was such a moment. Those two faces close together, under their coverings of scarlet and of grey, showed a contrast almost cruelly vivid. Antonia was flushed, her eyes had grown deep blue; her look of startled doubt had passed and left a question in her face.
"Would you like to come in and wait? We could send you home, in the brougham," she said.
The lady called Mrs. Foliot stood, one arm across the crupper of her saddle, biting her lips and smiling still her enigmatic smile, and it was her face that stayed most vividly on Shelton's mind, its ashy hail, its pallor, and fixed, scornful eyes.
"Oh, no, thanks! You're very kind."
Out of Antonia's face the timid, doubting friendliness had fled, and was replaced by enmity. With a long, cold look at both of them she turned away. Mrs. Foliot gave a little laugh, and raised her foot for Shelton's help. He heard a hiss of pain as he swung her up, but when he looked at her she smiled.
"Anyway," he said impatiently, "let me come and see you don't break down.
She shook her head. "It 's only two miles. I'm not made of sugar.""Then I shall simply have to follow."
She shrugged her shoulders, fixing her resolute eyes on him.
"Would that boy like to come?" she asked.
Toddles left the horse's head.
"By Jove!" he cried. "Would n't I just!"
"Then," she said, "I think that will be best. You 've been so kind."She bowed, smiled inscrutably once more, touched the Arab with her whip, and started, Toddles trotting at her side.
Shelton was left with Antonia underneath the elms. A sudden puff of tepid air blew in their faces, like a warning message from the heavy, purple heat clouds; low rumbling thunder travelled slowly from afar.
"We're going to have a storm," he said.
Antonia nodded. She was pale now, and her face still wore its cold look of offence.
"I 've got a headache," she said, "I shall go in and lie down."Shelton tried to speak, but something kept him silent--submission to what was coming, like the mute submission of the fields and birds to the menace of the storm.
He watched her go, and went back to his seat. And the silence seemed to grow; the flowers ceased to exude their fragrance, numbed by the weighty air. All the long house behind him seemed asleep, deserted.
No noise came forth, no laughter, the echo of no music, the ringing of no bell; the heat had wrapped it round with drowsiness. And the silence added to the solitude within him. What an unlucky chance, that woman's accident! Designed by Providence to put Antonia further from him than before! Why was not the world composed of the immaculate alone? He started pacing up and down, tortured by a dreadful heartache.
"I must get rid of this," he thought. "I 'll go for a good tramp, and chance the storm."Leaving the drive he ran on Toddles, returning in the highest spirits.
"I saw her home," he crowed. "I say, what a ripper, isn't she?
She 'll be as lame as a tree to-morrow; so will the gee. Jolly hot!"This meeting showed Shelton that he had been an hour on the stone seat; he had thought it some ten minutes, and the discovery alarmed him. It seemed to bring the import of his miserable fear right home to him. He started with a swinging stride, keeping his eyes fixed on the road, the perspiration streaming down his face.
