s they went
out together into the soft damp air; and Audrey, perhaps in gratitude
for these words, took his arm unasked as she walked with him through the
dark village street.

CHAPTER XXV

MR. HARCOURT SPEAKS HIS MIND

'It is idle to _talk_ a young woman in love out of her passion.
Love does not lie in the ear.'--HORACE WALPOLE.

Mrs. Blake was expecting them--had been expecting them for hours; Audrey
could see that in a moment. The October evenings were chilly, and most
people in Rutherford lighted a fire at sundown; so a clear little fire
burnt in the drawing-room grate, and Mrs. Blake's favourite lamp with
the pink shade cast a rosy glow over the little tea-table. The cups were
ranged in due order, and some hot cakes were on the brass trivet, but
the little tea-maker was not at her usual post. Only Mrs. Blake was
standing alone in the middle of the room, and as Cyril led Audrey to her
she threw her arms round the girl with almost hysterical violence. 'Oh,
my dear, dear, dearest girl!' she exclaimed, pressing her with
convulsive force; and Audrey felt a little embarrassed.

'I thought you would be looking for us,' she said, releasing herself
gently; 'I asked Cyril to bring me--it seemed the right thing.'

'No, dear, it was not the right thing,' returned Mrs. Blake, almost
solemnly; 'it was for me to come to you. But all the same, I knew Cyril
would bring you; my boy would remember his mother even in his
happiness.'

'It was not my thought,' began Cyril; but a very sweet look from Audrey
checked him.

'What does it matter whose thought it was?' she said, in her direct way;
'if I asked him to bring me, it was because I knew it was what he
wished, though he did not like to ask me. Dear Mrs. Blake, was it likely
that I should stay away when we have always been such friends?'

For a moment Mrs. Blake seemed unable to answer. Some curious emotion
impeded her utterance. She turned very pale and trembled visibly.

'And we shall be better friends than ever now,' continued Audrey, taking
her hand, for she felt very tender towards the beautiful woman who was
Cyril's mother.

'I trust so,' returned Mrs. Blake in a low voice; but there was a
melancholy gleam in her large dark eyes. Then, with an effort to recover
her usual manner: 'Audrey, I hope you have forgiven me for troubling you
so yesterday. You must not expect me to say I am sorry, or that I repent
a word that I said then; but all the same,