“Goodbye,” said Mrs. Ray.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Ray. I don’t think I’ve been very well treated among you. I don’t indeed. But I won’t say any more about that at present. Is she quite well?”
“Pretty well, thank you,” said she, all of a tremble.
“I won’t send her any message. As things are at present, no message would be of any service. Goodbye.” And so saying he went from her.
Mrs. Ray at that moment had no time for making up her mind as to what she would do or say in consequence of this meeting—or whether she would do or say anything. She looked forward to all the leisure time of her journey home for thinking of that; so she finished her shopping and hurried on to Mr. Goodall’s office without resolving whether or no she would tell Rachel of the encounter. At Mr. Goodall’s she remained some little time, dining at that gentleman’s house as well as signing the deed, and asking questions about the gas company. He had grateful recollections of kindnesses received from Mr. Ray, and always exercised his hospitality on those rare occasions which brought Mrs. Ray up to Exeter. As they sat at table he asked questions about the young purchaser of the property which somewhat perplexed Mrs. Ray. Yes, she said, she did know him. She had just met him in the street and heard his news. Young Rowan, she told her friend, had been at the cottage more than once, but no mention had been made of his desire to buy these cottages. Was he well spoken of in Baslehurst? Well;—she was so little in Baslehurst that she hardly knew. She had heard that he had quarrelled with Mr. Tappitt, and she believed that many people had said that he was wrong in his quarrel. She knew nothing of his property; but certainly had heard somebody say that he had gone away without paying his debts. It may easily be conceived how miserable and ineffective she would be under this cross-examination, although it was made by Mr. Goodall without any allusion to Rachel.
“At any rate we have got our money,” said Mr. Goodall; “and I suppose that’s all we care about. But I should say he’s rather a harum-scarum sort of fellow. Why he should leave his debts behind him I can’t understand, as he seems to have plenty of money.”
All this made Mrs. Ray’s task the more difficult. During the last two or three weeks she had been wishing that she had not gone to Mr. Comfort—wishing that she had allowed Rachel to answer Rowan’s letter in any terms of warmest love that she might have chosen—wishing, in fact, that she had permitted the engagement to go on. But now she began again to think that she had been right. If this man were in truth a harum-scarum fellow was it not well that Rachel should be quit of him—even with any amount of present sorrow? Thinking of this on her way back to Baslehurst she again made up her mind that Rowan was a wolf. But she had not made up her mind as to what she would, or what she would not tell Rachel about the meeting, even when she reached her own door. “I will send her no message,” he had said. “As things are at present no message would be of service.” What had he meant by this? What purpose on his part did these words indicate? These questions Mrs. Ray had asked herself, but had failed to answer them.
But no resolution on Mrs. Ray’s part to keep the meeting secret would have been of avail, even had she made such resolution. The fact would have fallen from her as easily as water falls from a sieve. Rachel would have extracted from her the information, had she been ever so determined not to impart it. As things had turned out she had at once given Rachel to understand that she had met someone in Exeter whom she had not expected to meet.
“But, mamma, whom did you see except Mr. Goodall?” Rachel asked. “I know you saw somebody, and you must tell me.”
“That’s nonsense, Rachel; you can’t know that I saw anybody.”
After that there was a pause for some moments, and then Rachel persisted in her inquiry. “But, mamma, I do know that you met somebody.”—Then there was another pause.—“Mamma, was it Mr. Rowan?”
Mrs. Ray stood convicted at once. Had she not spoken a word, the form of her countenance when the question was asked would have answered it with sufficient clearness. But she did speak a word. “Well; yes, it was Mr. Rowan. He had come down to Exeter on business.”
“And what did he say, mamma?”
“He didn’t say anything—at least, nothing particular. It is he that has bought the cottages, and he had come down from London about that. He told me that he wanted some ground near Baslehurst, because he couldn’t get the brewery.”
“And what else did he say, mamma?”
“I tell you that he said nothing else.”
“He didn’t—didn’t mention me then?”
Mrs. Ray had been looking away from Rachel during this conversation—had been purposely looking away from her. But now there was a tone of agony in her child’s voice which forced her to glance round. Ah me! She beheld so piteous an expression of woe in Rachel’s face that her whole heart was melted within her, and she began to wish instantly that they might have Rowan back again with all his faults.
“Tell me the truth, mamma; I may as well know it.”
“Well, my dear, he didn’t mention your name, but he did say a word about you.”
“What word, mamma?”
“He said he would send no message because it would be no good.”
“He said that, did he?”
“Yes, he said that. And so I suppose he meant it would be no good sending anything till he came himself.”
“No, mamma; he didn’t mean quite that. I understand what he meant. As
