Lord Hartledon let down the window
impulsively, as if he would have spoken, but seemed to recollect himself,
and drew it up again.
"What is it?" asked Maude.
"Mr. Carr."
It was the first word he had spoken to her since the ceremony. His
silence had frightened her: what if he should resent on _her_ the cruel
words spoken by Dr. Ashton? Sick, trembling, her beautiful face humble
and tearful enough now, she bent it on his shoulder in a shower of bitter
tears.
"Oh, Percival, Percival! surely you are not going to punish me for what
has passed?"
A moment's struggle with himself, and he turned and took both her hands
in his.
"It may be that neither of us is free from blame, Maude, in regard to the
past. All we can now do, as it seems to me, is to forget it together, and
make the best of the future."
"And you will forget Anne Ashton?" she whispered.
"Of course I shall forget her. I ask nothing better than to forget her
from this moment. I have made _you_ my wife; and I will try to make your
happiness."
He bent and kissed her face. Maude, in some restlessness, as it seemed,
withdrew to her own corner of the carriage and cried softly; and Lord
Hartledon let down the glass again to look back after Thomas Carr and his
portmanteau in the starlight.
The only perfectly satisfied person was the countess-dowager. All the
little annoying hindrances went for nothing now that the desired end
was accomplished, and she was in high feather when she bade adieu to the
amiable young clergyman, who had to depart that night for his curacy,
ten miles away, to be in readiness for the morrow's services.
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