She was advancing for her peep when Mr. Blenkinsop appeared in the doorway. “I thought that was your step on the stairs,” he said.
“And I did my best not to make a sound! I know you don’t like being disturbed.”
“It’s quicker than other people’s,” he said, “and, as a matter of fact, I was just going to have a little walk. I generally have one at this time of night, so perhaps you’ll allow me to see you home.”
“I wasn’t going home, as you call it, yet,” she said. “When I have a night out I make the most of it. I’m going round the hill and down the Avenue.”
“I don’t think you ought to do that alone.”
“I shan’t be alone if I’m with you. But no!” she cried repentantly, “I won’t spoil your walk. I’ll go by myself. Let’s start at opposite ends and I’ll meet you at the top of Beresford Road, to show you I’m not murdered, and you can deliver me at the door.”
“That would be a very silly thing to do,” he said.
“But I like doing silly things.”
“And I don’t,” he said firmly, following her down the stairs.
“Ah, you ought to learn,” she said, seeing him plainly now, in the light of the hall, and she thought he looked too set and stolid to learn anything she could teach him. Spectacled and grave, he waited while she said good night to Mrs. Gibson, and they set off together without a word.
Hannah found it difficult to talk to Mr. Blenkinsop when she could not see his face. The sight of it made her feel merry and ready to be absurd; his mere bulk, keeping pace with hers, deadened her faculties, and he seemed to have nothing to say himself. In silence they crossed Regent Square and went through the little alley to the street where stately Georgian houses began when the shops ended, and so reached the Green, and the lamps lighting the little paths.
“I think this is much sillier than walking separately,” Hannah said and, looking up at him, she had the gratification of seeing him smile unwillingly. The smile only lasted for a moment.
“But you are safer,” he said.
“If you want to be safe, you’d better be dead.”
“I don’t agree with you,” Mr. Blenkinsop said.
“Good! Let’s argue about it.”
“I don’t see anything to argue about.”
“Then tell me about the Riddings.”
“You’re very curious about the Riddings.”
“Of course I am. Are you teaching him to play chess?”
Mr. Blenkinsop cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m trying,” he said bashfully, and then, angrily, as though it were Hannah’s fault, he exclaimed, “That girl will break down herself, if she doesn’t get some relief!”
Hannah was content to be silent for the rest of the walk. She had plenty to think about and so, apparently, had Mr. Blenkinsop, and she believed they were both thinking of Mrs. Ridding; and though, apart from her interesting thoughts, it was, as she had said, a silly walk, she enjoyed the feeling of his unnecessary protection and she was touched by his courtesy.
When she parted from him at the gate, she saw that the doorstep was illumined as it could not be unless the door was open, and in the hall she found Mr. Corder. She had feared to find Mr. Pilgrim too, and her smile of relief was a new thing to the minister.
“I have just been out to look for you,” he said.
“How kind of you! Then I suppose you saw me coming down the road with Mr. Blenkinsop.” He had not expected this frankness and she felt that he was disappointed.
“Mr. Blenkinsop?” he repeated.
“Yes. I’ve spent the evening with Mrs. Gibson and Mr. Blenkinsop saw me home.”
“Ah, Mrs. Gibson. I hope you had a pleasant time. Don’t trouble about my tea, Miss Mole. I have had to make it myself.”
XVIII
A fortnight later Hannah walked across the downs to pay her call on Lilla. Robert Corder had again reminded her of this duty and she was willing enough to perform it. The shadow cast by Mr. Pilgrim had receded, and though she could still see it like a storm-cloud that might, or might not, break, the sky immediately above her was clear and she felt lighthearted. She had found something very whimsical in the comparative indifference of the family towards a visit which, to her, had been so portentous. At breakfast, the next morning, Robert Corder had made some of those kindly, disparaging remarks of which he was a master. He hoped Mr. Pilgrim would not find city life too much for him after the less exacting demands of the country: fortunately for him, the chapel was a small one, with a congregation of simple-minded people and no intellectual influence there, or in the wider interests of Radstowe, would be expected of him. In other words, though he did not use them, Mr. Pilgrim was not likely to sit on any committees with Robert Corder.
Wilfrid’s glance at Hannah was a comment on these bland remarks and a description of the evening’s entertainment. Ethel looked thoughtful and subdued and Ruth was occupied with a letter which was spread out on her knee and sheltered by the table.
When she looked up her face was radiant. “Uncle Jim’s coming for Christmas!” she cried.
“Indeed?” Robert Corder said coldly.
“Good man,” Wilfrid muttered, and Ethel, whose pleasure was spoilt by the fact that Ruth conveyed it, turned to him sharply, saying, “He’s no relation of yours!”
“That’s why I like him,” Wilfrid retorted.
This little flurry passed unnoticed by Robert Corder. He was looking hurt. “I have heard nothing about this visit,” he said.
“Oh, but you will. He’s going to write to you.”
“Is that a letter from him?”
“Yes,” said Ruth, ready to protect it.
“I never ask to see your letters, as
