"You must have astonished him not a little," I observed.
Anthony, it seems, remained on the road looking down at her. He did not
offer to approach her, neither did he make any other movement or gesture.
Flora de Barral told me all this. She could see him through her tears,
blurred to a mere shadow on the white road, and then again becoming more
distinct, but always absolutely still and as if lost in thought before a
strange phenomenon which demanded the closest possible attention.
Flora learned later that he had never seen a woman cry; not in that way,
at least. He was impressed and interested by the mysteriousness of the
effect. She was very conscious of being looked at, but was not able to
stop herself crying. In fact, she was not capable of any effort.
Suddenly he advanced two steps, stooped, caught hold of her hands lying
on her lap and pulled her up to her feet; she found herself standing
close to him almost before she realized what he had done. Some people
were coming briskly along the road and Captain Anthony muttered: "You
don't want to be stared at. What about that stile over there? Can we go
back across the fields?"
She snatched her hands out of his grasp (it seems he had omitted to let
them go), marched away from him and got over the stile. It was a big
field sprinkled profusely with white sheep. A trodden path crossed it
diagonally. After she had gone more than half way she turned her head
for the first time. Keeping five feet or so behind, Captain Anthony was
following her with an air of extreme interest. Interest or eagerness. At
any rate she caught an expression on his face which frightened her. But
not enough to make her run. And indeed it would have had to be something
incredibly awful to scare into a run a girl who had come to the end of
her courage to live.
As if encouraged by this glance over the shoulder Captain Anthony came up
boldly, and now that he was by her side, she felt his nearness
intimately, like a touch. She tried to disregard this sensation. But
she was not angry with him now. It wasn't worth while. She was thankful
that he had the sense not to ask questions as to this crying. Of course
he didn't ask because he didn't care. No one in the world cared for her,
neither those who pretended nor yet those who did not pretend. She
preferred the latter.
Captain Anthony opened for her a gate into another field; when they got
through he kept walking abreast, elbow to elbow almost. His voice
growled pleasantly in her very ear. Staying in this dull place was
enough to give anyone the blues. His sister scribbled all day. It was
positively unkind. He alluded to his nieces as rude, selfish monkeys,
without either feelings or manners. And he went on to talk about his
ship being laid up for a month and dismantled for repairs. The worst was
that on arriving in London he found he couldn't get the rooms he was used
to, where they made him as comfortable as such a confirmed sea-dog as
himself could be anywhere on shore.