He hesitated, listening to that drowsy, sibilant music, and did not notice the approach of a vehicle until it was almost upon him. Looking up, as the driver turned his horses aside, he looked straight into the face of Grace Jerrold.
She was alone save for the groom who sat on the seat before her. She was in a thin white dress and held a green silk parasol above her bright uncovered head.
Derek started forward, shamefaced, yet eager. He thought, instantly, he would climb in beside her and pour out the whole miserable business into her ears. The driver drew up his horses, and looked over his shoulder, expecting an order to stop. But, instead, she gave him a little nod to go on, and, after one sorrowful look into the expectant eyes raised to hers, turned her face away, and stared across the lake.
The carriage passed. Now the glistening green parasol hid her from view. She had dropped it on her shoulder, either to hide herself from the contamination of his gaze, or from faintness perhaps. It did not matter. She had cut him. He scarcely seemed able to take that in as he stood in the dust of the wheels.
All he wanted now was to get home, to escape from the glare of the road into the dim shade of the parlour. There he would sit until Mr. Ramsey's return. He had said he would be back about three. He would sit there quietly till Mr. Ramsey came, and then he would tell him of his unchangeable decision not to marry the girl.
He began quickly to retrace his steps. Two little girls in clumsy pinafores met him and whispered together behind their hands. Then they began to laugh hysterically, and ran past him clutching each other. When he reached his own gate, the hen was exactly where he had first found her, taking a second dust bath.
