He laughed grimly.
"Oh, it's no more than I had a right to expect. Don't forget what I told
you about holding your reins--that's right."
"Is it about money?" she asked timidly. "I always think bad luck means
that."
He nodded.
"Yes; I've lost a great deal of money lately," he replied vaguely.
"And--and I must leave Shorne Mills."
"I am sorry," she said simply, and without attempting to conceal her
regret. "I--we--have almost grown to think that you belonged here. Will
you be sorry to go?"
He glanced at her innocent eyes and frowned.
"Yes; very much," he replied. "There is a fascination in this place. It
is so quiet, so beautiful, so remote, so far away from the world which I
hate!"
"You hate? Why do you hate it?" she asked.
He bit his lip again.
"Because it is false and hollow," he replied. "No man--or woman--thinks
what he or she says, or says what he or she thinks."
"Then why go back to it?" she asked. "But all the people in London can't
be--bad and false," she added, as if she were considering his sweeping
condemnation.
"Oh, not all," he said. "I've been unfortunate in my acquaintances,
perhaps, as Voltaire said."
He looked across the moor again absently. Her question, "Then why go
back to it?" haunted him. It was absurd to imagine that he could remain
at Shorne Mills. The quiet life had been pleasant, he had felt better in
health here than he had done for years; but--well, a man who has spent
so many years in the midst of the whirl of life is very much like the
old prisoner of the Bastille who, when he was released by the
revolutionary mob, implored to be taken back again. One gets used to the
din and clamor of society as one gets used to the solemn quiet of a
prison. Besides, he was, or had been, a prominent figure in the
gallantry show, and he seemed to belong to it.
"One isn't always one's own master," he said, after a pause.
Nell turned her eyes to him.
"Are not you?" she said, a little shyly. "You seem so--so free to do
just what you please."
He laughed rather grimly.
"Do you know what I should do if I were as free as I seem, Miss Nell?"
he asked. "I should take one of these farms"--he nodded to a rural
homestead, one of the smallest and simplest, which stood on the edge of
the moor--"and spend the rest of my life making clotted cream and
driving cows and pigs to market."