But neither had she expected, on the
other side, a certainty so immediate and so unqualified. She saw before
her no settled or resigned grief. The Tallyn tragedy had transformed
what had been almost a recovered serenity, a restored and patient
equilibrium, into something violent, tumultuous, unstable--prophesying
action. But what--poor child!--could the action be?
* * * * *
"Poor Hugh!" said Mrs. Roughsedge to her husband on their return, as she
stood beside him, in his study. Her voice was low, for Hugh had only
just gone up-stairs, and the little house was thinly built.
The doctor rubbed his nose thoughtfully, and then looked round him for a
cigarette.
"Yes," he said, slowly; "but he enjoyed his walk home."
"Henry!"
Hugh had walked back to the village with Mrs. Colwood, who had an errand
there, and it was true that he had talked much to her out of earshot of
his parents, and had taken a warm farewell of her at the end.
"Why am I to be 'Henry'-ed?"--inquired the doctor, beginning on his
cigarette.
"Because you must know," said his wife, in an energetic whisper, "that
Hugh had almost certainly proposed to Miss Mallory before we arrived,
and she had refused him!"
The doctor meditated.
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