Mr. Melbury's tone evinced a certain exultation in the very sense of
that inferiority he affected to deplore; for this advanced and refined
being, was she not his own all the time? Not so Giles; he felt
doubtful--perhaps a trifle cynical--for that strand was wound into him
with the rest. He looked at his clothes with misgiving, then with
indifference.
It was his custom during the planting season to carry a specimen
apple-tree to market with him as an advertisement of what he dealt in.
This had been tied across the gig; and as it would be left behind in
the town, it would cause no inconvenience to Miss Grace Melbury coming
home.
He drove away, the twigs nodding with each step of the horse; and
Melbury went in-doors. Before the gig had passed out of sight, Mr.
Melbury reappeared and shouted after-"Here, Giles," he said, breathlessly following with some wraps, "it may
be very chilly to-night, and she may want something extra about her.
And, Giles," he added, when the young man, having taken the articles,
put the horse in motion once more, "tell her that I should have come
myself, but I had particular business with Mrs. Charmond's agent, which
prevented me. Don't forget."
He watched Winterborne out of sight, saying, with a jerk--a shape into
which emotion with him often resolved itself--"There, now, I hope the
two will bring it to a point and have done with it! 'Tis a pity to let
such a girl throw herself away upon him--a thousand pities!...And yet
'tis my duty for his father's sake."