She would not have to walk home alone.
But with Romney Penhallow! Would he think she had contrived
it so purposely?
Romney silently opened the gate for her, silently latched it behind her,
and silently fell into step beside her. Down across a velvety
sweep of field they went; the air was frosty, calm and still;
over the world lay a haze of moonshine and mist that converted
East Grafton's prosaic hills and fields into a shimmering fairyland.
At first Lucinda felt angrier than ever. What a ridiculous situation!
How the Penhallows would laugh over it!
As for Romney, he, too, was angry with the trick impish chance had
played him. He liked being the butt of an awkward situation as little
as most men; and certainly to be obliged to walk home over moonlit fields
at one o'clock in the morning with the woman he had loved and never
spoken to for fifteen years was the irony of fate with a vengeance.
Would she think he had schemed for it? And how the deuce did she come
to be walking home from the wedding at all?
By the time they had crossed the field and reached the wild cherry lane
beyond it, Lucinda's anger was mastered by her saving sense of humour.
She was even smiling a little maliciously under her fascinator.
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