In the field just below it the silvery lines of new-cut
hay lay hot and fragrant in the quivering light. The woods on the
hill-side were at the richest moment of their new life, the earth-forces
swelling and rioting through every root and branch, wild roses climbing
every hedge--the miracle of summer at its height.
Diana sat down upon a grass-bank, to look and dream. The flowers
dropped beside her; she propped her face on her hands.
The home-coming had been hard. And perhaps the element in it she had
felt most difficult to bear had been the universal sympathy with which
she had been greeted. It spoke from the faces of the poor--the men and
women, the lads and girls of the village; with their looks of curiosity,
sometimes frank, sometimes furtive or embarrassed. It was more politely
disguised in the manners and tones of the gentle people; but everywhere
it was evident; and sometimes it was beyond her endurance.
She could not help imagining the talk about her in her absence; the
discussion of the case in the country-houses or in the village. To the
village people, unused to the fine discussions which turn on motive and
environment, and slow to revise an old opinion, she was just the
daughter--
She covered her eyes--one hideous word ringing brutally, involuntarily,
through her brain.
Pages:
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492