Peter knew it, too, knew that the merest thread of courage and self-respect kept them apart. His arms strained at his sides. Forcing his voice to an impersonal, level tone, he said practically:
"It's getting late. Come on, little pal, we must make up time, or they'll be sending out a search party for us from Mallow."
It was late in the evening before Nan and Peter found themselves alone together again. Everyone was standing about in the big hall exchanging good nights and last snippets of talk before taking their several ways to bed. Peter drew Nan a little to one side.
"Nan, is it true that you're engaged to Trenby?" he asked.
"Quite true." She had to force the answer to her lips. Mallory's face was rather stern.
"I--I couldn't, Peter," she said, under her breath. "I couldn't."
His face still wore that white, unsmiling look. But he drew Nan's shaking hands between his own and held them very gently as he put his next question.
"You don't care for him." It was more an assertion, than a question, though it demanded a reply.
"Then, for God's sake, don't make the same hash of your life as I made of mine. Believe me, Nan"--his voice roughened--"it's far worse to be married to someone you don't love than to remain unmarried all your days."
The frosty voice entirely failed to confirm the sense of the words as Lady Gertrude Trenby bent forward and imprinted a somewhat chilly kiss on Nan's cheek.
She was a tall woman, thin and aristocratic-looking, with a repressive manner that inspired her domestic staff with awe and her acquaintances with a nervous anxiety to placate her.
Nan shrank sensitively, and glanced upward to see if there were anything in her future mother-in-law's face which might serve to contradict the coldness of her greeting. But there was nothing. It was a stern, aquiline type of face, with a thin-lipped mouth and hard, obstinate chin, and the iron-grey hair, dressed in a high, stiff fashion, which suggested that no single hair would ever be allowed to stray from its lawful place, seemed to emphasise its severity.
The chilly welcome, then, was intentional--not the result of shyness or a natural awkwardness with strangers. Lady Gertrude was perfectly composed, and Nan felt an inward conviction that the news of Roger's engagement had not met with her approval. Perhaps she resented the idea of relinquishing the reins of government at Trenby Hall in favour of a daughter-in-law. It was quite possible, few mothers of sons who have retained their bachelorhood as long as Roger enjoy being relegated to the position of dowager. They have reigned too long to relish abdication.