The intersection of his temporal orbit with Mrs. Charmond's for a day
or two in the past had created a sentimental interest in her at the
time, but it had been so evanescent that in the ordinary onward roll of
affairs he would scarce ever have recalled it again. To find her here,
however, in these somewhat romantic circumstances, magnified that
by-gone and transitory tenderness to indescribable proportions.
On entering Little Hintock he found himself regarding it in a new
way--from the Hintock House point of view rather than from his own and
the Melburys'. The household had all gone to bed, and as he went
up-stairs he heard the snore of the timber-merchant from his quarter of
the building, and turned into the passage communicating with his own
rooms in a strange access of sadness. A light was burning for him in
the chamber; but Grace, though in bed, was not asleep. In a moment her
sympathetic voice came from behind the curtains.
"Edgar, is she very seriously hurt?"
Fitzpiers had so entirely lost sight of Mrs. Charmond as a patient that
he was not on the instant ready with a reply.
"Oh no," he said. "There are no bones broken, but she is shaken. I am
going again to-morrow."
Another inquiry or two, and Grace said, "Did she ask for me?"
"Well--I think she did--I don't quite remember; but I am under the
impression that she spoke of you."
"Cannot you recollect at all what she said?"
"I cannot, just this minute."
"At any rate she did not talk much about me?" said Grace with
disappointment.
"Oh no."
"But you did, perhaps," she added, innocently fishing for a compliment.
"Oh yes--you may depend upon that!" replied he, warmly, though scarcely
thinking of what he was saving, so vividly was there present to his
mind the personality of Mrs. Charmond.