CHAPTER XXII
AUREA’S REFLECTIONS
But Aurea had no intention of “telling her aunts”; on the contrary, she crossed the old bowling-green in order to avoid the Manor, and returned home across the meadows that led by Claringbold’s Farm. In the dim hall of the Rectory she encountered Norris—who, of an afternoon, often haunted that vicinity—and said, as she handed her the flowers—
“Will you please fill the church vases? I’ve rather a headache from the sun.”
The girl really did feel considerably dazed and bewildered, and passed into the drawing-room, where she ruthlessly dislodged Mac from her own particular pet chair. Mac vacated the seat with an air of injured deliberation, found another, and sighed as heavily as if he were a human being.
The time had come for thinking things out, and his mistress, having seated herself, prepared to hold a court of inquiry on Aurea Morven. One would suppose that she really had had a sunstroke like poor Captain Ramsay! What mad impulse had urged her to question the chauffeur? At the moment, she seemed to be listening to another personality speaking by her lips. She felt a fluttering in her throat as she told herself that this inscrutable young man was certainly in love with her. Behold, she summoned her evidence! The photograph in the watch, the village concert, when, after a rousing camp song, he had given, as an encore, “I’ll sing thee songs of Araby”; she believed that the words were addressed to herself, that the singer was pouring out his soul to her. Possibly other girls shared her conviction, and had taken it to their tender and palpitating hearts. When the last note had died away in a ringing silence, Ottinge recognised a gentleman’s song and a gentleman’s voice; after a pause of astonishment, there came a storm of belated clapping and applause, and one or two timid female voices were heard to cry out “Encore!” Some of the rustic audience grinned, and declared that the words were no good, and damned nonsense, but the tune was pretty enough; it was whistled in the street within the week.
Aurea summed up the photograph, the song, and the recent interview by the sundial; the recollection of Owen’s voice, the look in his extremely expressive grey eyes, set her heart beating. At the same time she blamed herself for her amazing indiscretion. She, who had lately avoided this gentleman chauffeur at choir practice, at the Manor, and in the village—she, who knew that he treasured her photo, to actually accost him in the garden, and demand what he meant by remaining in Ottinge!
She felt her face burning, and no wonder! Well, at any rate the scene had given her a shock—it had roused her to the knowledge of her own feelings. It was with difficulty her maidenly reticence could put the thing into thought, but it simply came to this—she had arrived, at last, at the clear realisation that the daughter of the Rector of Ottinge was in love with her aunts’ chauffeur! She whispered it to herself and Mackenzie! How did it sound? How would it sound when talked abroad, all over the parish and the county? What would people say? When she thought of her Aunt Bella, she actually laughed aloud, and Mackenzie, whom she had disturbed, raised his head and gave a low growl.
The chauffeur disturbed her—even now her pulses were racing; she had never felt like this when in the company of Bertie Woolcock—no, nor any of Aunt Morven’s young eligibles—but this man affected her differently. Was it because she knew that he cared for her? Was it because he was handsome, reserved, and self-reliant? Was it because there was a mystery about him? No; it was simply because he was himself; his voice was still speaking to her inward ear—“It would be impossible for me to tell you!” Nevertheless, his eyes had been eloquent, and, since the truth must be confessed, her heart was in a wild whirl of happiness.
But why was he here in retreat? Surely not because he had done anything disgraceful? Mrs. Ramsay liked him, and said he had been such a comfort to her husband and herself; her father liked him, so did Susan, so did the village; the dogs adored him—all but Mackenzie, an exception who proved the rule!
Yes, she would give her heart to the chauffeur—as a matter of fact it was not a case of giving; it was already bestowed—and keep the knowledge to herself. No one should ever know—above all, he should not know. “Time Tries All.” His affairs might improve; some day he might be able to throw off his chauffeur’s disguise and be himself; meanwhile, she determined to avoid him, and never again enter the Manor garden when there was a chance of meeting him; as to the green motor, she had, as she assured him, done with it for ever.