"No, father, no! It is not Giles--it is something I cannot tell you
of--"
"Well, make fools of us all; make us laughing-stocks; break it off;
have your own way."
"But who knows of the engagement as yet? how can breaking it disgrace
you?"
Melbury then by degrees admitted that he had mentioned the engagement
to this acquaintance and to that, till she perceived that in his
restlessness and pride he had published it everywhere. She went
dismally away to a bower of laurel at the top of the garden. Her
father followed her.
"It is that Giles Winterborne!" he said, with an upbraiding gaze at her.
"No, it is not; though for that matter you encouraged him once," she
said, troubled to the verge of despair. "It is not Giles, it is Mr.
Fitzpiers."
"You've had a tiff--a lovers' tiff--that's all, I suppose "It is some woman--"
"Ay, ay; you are jealous. The old story. Don't tell me. Now do you
bide here. I'll send Fitzpiers to you. I saw him smoking in front of
his house but a minute by-gone."
He went off hastily out of the garden-gate and down the lane. But she
would not stay where she was; and edging through a slit in the
garden-fence, walked away into the wood. Just about here the trees
were large and wide apart, and there was no undergrowth, so that she
could be seen to some distance; a sylph-like, greenish-white creature,
as toned by the sunlight and leafage. She heard a foot-fall crushing
dead leaves behind her, and found herself reconnoitered by Fitzpiers
himself, approaching gay and fresh as the morning around them.
His remote gaze at her had been one of mild interest rather than of
rapture. But she looked so lovely in the green world about her, her
pink cheeks, her simple light dress, and the delicate flexibility of
her movement acquired such rarity from their wild-wood setting, that
his eyes kindled as he drew near.
"My darling, what is it? Your father says you are in the pouts, and
jealous, and I don't know what. Ha! ha! ha! as if there were any rival
to you, except vegetable nature, in this home of recluses! We know
better."
"Jealous; oh no, it is not so," said she, gravely. "That's a mistake
of his and yours, sir. I spoke to him so closely about the question of
marriage with you that he did not apprehend my state of mind."
"But there's something wrong--eh?" he asked, eying her narrowly, and
bending to kiss her. She shrank away, and his purposed kiss miscarried.