following Stephen at the distance of a few steps
‘Under us. He is under this tomb. He is dead, and we are sitting on his grave.’
‘Elfie,’ said the young man, standing up and looking at the tomb, ‘how odd and sad that revelation seems! It quite depresses me for the moment.’
‘Stephen! I didn’t wish to sit here; but you would do so.’
‘You never encouraged him?’
‘Never by look, word, or sign,’ she said solemnly. ‘He died of consumption, and was buried the day you first came.’
‘Let us go away. I don’t like standing by HIM, even if you never loved him. He was BEFORE me.’
‘Worries make you unreasonable,’ she half pouted, following Stephen at the distance of a few steps. ‘Perhaps I ought to have told you before we sat down. Yes; let us go.’
Chapter 9
‘Her father did fume’
Oppressed, in spite of themselves, by a foresight of impending complications, Elfride and Stephen returned down the hill hand in hand. At the door they paused wistfully, like children late at school.
Women accept their destiny more readily than men. Elfride had now resigned herself to the overwhelming idea of her lover’s sorry antecedents; Stephen had not forgotten the trifling grievance that Elfride had known earlier admiration than his own.
‘What was that young man’s name?’ he inquired.
‘Felix Jethway; a widow’s only son.’
‘I remember the family.’
‘She hates me now. She says I killed him.’
Stephen mused, and they entered the porch.
‘Stephen, I love only you,’ she tremulously whispered. He pressed her fingers, and the trifling shadow passed away, to admit again the mutual and more tangible trouble.
The study appeared to be the only room lighted up. They entered, each with a demeanour intended to conceal the inconcealable fact that reciprocal love was their dominant chord. Elfride perceived a man, sitting with his back towards herself, talking to her father. She would have retired, but Mr. Swancourt had seen her.
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