So you'll come, won't you?" And
somehow with Lady Susan's kind, merry dark eyes twinkling up at him he had
not been able to find the ungraciousness to refuse.
But when the occasion came he had contributed very little to the gaiety of
nations. He left early, on the ground that he had an appointment to keep
in Ferribridge, and Ann felt as though he had joined the party more in the
capacity of a looker-on than anything else. She said as much to him a day
or two later when he chanced to meet her in the village, executing
household shopping errands, and they had walked home together.
"You are quite right," he answered. "That's what I am--a looker-on at life.
I've no wish to be anything else."
He no longer avoided her now, as he had been wont to do, and an odd sort of
friendship had sprung up between them. But it was often punctuated by some
such speech as the foregoing, and Ann felt that although he had sheathed
the sword he was still armoured with a coat of mail. It was difficult to
bring these almost brutal speeches, ground out of some long-harboured
bitterness, into relation with the sweetness of that sudden, rare smile of
his. The man was an enigma. He asked for friendship and then, when it was
tentatively proffered, withdrew himself abruptly as though he feared it.
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