"Jerry," I heard her call again softly, "I am not afraid."
That was it. I understood now. What she loved was fear. But Jerry would not come back. I heard his voice faintly.
"I have learned; we have no right here--alone, you and I. It's what--what you accused Una of."
"But you and I--Jerry! Am I not different from Una? I have rights. She has none. I've given them to you, and you to me."
"Not if you're going to be so--so--er--inhospitable."
"You know I don't mean that. Would you have me less considerate of your reputation, your peace of mind, than I am of Una's? I want you to understand how deeply I respect you--that I want to treat you with tenderness, with delicacy, with gentle devotion."
I heard her sigh. I'm sure if Jerry's back had been turned she must have yawned. She rose and I heard her slow footsteps join his.
"How you disappoint me!" I heard her murmur and then more faintly: "How terribly you disappoint me! To analyze one's feelings! To think of conventions! Now! What _are_ you?"
I heard their voices fading into the distance and peered forth. They were walking slowly down the path, away from me. I stirred cautiously, straightened my stiffened legs, rose painfully, and then carefully made my way farther into the forest, through which I plunged headlong, eager to escape the sight of that accursed rock and its harrowing sounds. I had not been far wrong in my estimate of her and of Jerry. I would to God he had strangled her.
Una and her mother did not come to Horsham Manor during the following week, and it was early in June before Jerry ordered the rooms to be prepared for them. Jack Ballard, too, having at last found Newport irksome, promised to make up the house-party.
It did not seem to me that Jerry was especially overjoyed at the prospect of these guests. During the week or more that followed his encounter with Marcia in the woods, he had reverted to his former habits of strolling aimlessly about when he wasn't at Briar Hills or in town, at times cheerful enough; at others obstinately morose. But he did not drink. Whatever the differences between us, he evidently thought seriously enough of his word to me to make that promise worth keeping. I know he believed me to be meddlesome and with good reason (if he had known all), but he would not let me leave the Manor. I was a habit with him, a bad habit if you like, but it seemed a necessary one. Nevertheless in spite of the apparently pleasant nature of our relations, there was a coolness between us. Much as he loved me, and I was still sure that Marcia had made no real change in that affection, there was a new reserve in his manner, meant, I think, to show me that I had gone too far and that his affair with Marcia was not to be the subject of further discussion between us.
