The Woodlanders

Winterborne was too straightforward to influence her further against

her better judgment. "Yes--I suppose it is," he said, repentantly.

"I'll wait till all is settled. What did your father say in that last

letter?"

He meant about his progress with the petition; but she, mistaking him,

frankly spoke of the personal part. "He said--what I have implied.

Should I tell more plainly?"

"Oh no--don't, if it is a secret."

"Not at all. I will tell every word, straight out, Giles, if you wish.

He said I was to encourage you. There. But I cannot obey him further

to-day. Come, let us go now." She gently slid her hand from his, and

went in front of him out of the Abbey.

"I was thinking of getting some dinner," said Winterborne, changing to

the prosaic, as they walked. "And you, too, must require something.

Do let me take you to a place I know."

Grace was almost without a friend in the world outside her father's

house; her life with Fitzpiers had brought her no society; had

sometimes, indeed, brought her deeper solitude and inconsideration than

any she had ever known before. Hence it was a treat to her to find

herself again the object of thoughtful care. But she questioned if to

go publicly to dine with Giles Winterborne were not a proposal, due

rather to his unsophistication than to his discretion. She said gently

that she would much prefer his ordering her lunch at some place and

then coming to tell her it was ready, while she remained in the Abbey

porch. Giles saw her secret reasoning, thought how hopelessly blind to

propriety he was beside her, and went to do as she wished.

He was not absent more than ten minutes, and found Grace where he had

left her. "It will be quite ready by the time you get there," he said,

and told her the name of the inn at which the meal had been ordered,

which was one that she had never heard of.

"I'll find it by inquiry," said Grace, setting out.

"And shall I see you again?"

"Oh yes--come to me there. It will not be like going together. I

shall want you to find my father's man and the gig for me."

He waited on some ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, till he thought

her lunch ended, and that he might fairly take advantage of her

invitation to start her on her way home. He went straight to The Three

Tuns--a little tavern in a side street, scrupulously clean, but humble

and inexpensive. On his way he had an occasional misgiving as to

whether the place had been elegant enough for her; and as soon as he

entered it, and saw her ensconced there, he perceived that he had

blundered.