XVI

Victoria very soon perceived that a crisis had come and gone.  She had been accustomed for a while before they went to Scotland to send about once a week a basket of flowers and fruit from the famous gardens of Duddon, with her “kind regards” to Mrs. Penfold.  The basket was generally brought into the hall, and Tatham would slip into it the new books or magazines that seemed to him likely to attract the cottage party.  He had always taken a particular pleasure in the dispatch of the basket, and in the contrivance of some new offering of which it might be the bearer.  Victoria, on the other hand, though usually a lavish giver, had taken but a grudging part in the business, and merely to please her son.

On the day following the visit to the cottage, the basket, in obedience to a standing order, lay in the hall as usual, heaped with a gorgeous mass of the earliest chrysanthemums.  Victoria observed it—­with an unfriendly eye—­as she passed through the hall on her way to breakfast.

Harry came up behind her, and she turned to give him her morning kiss.

“Please don’t send it,” he said abruptly, pointing to the basket.  “It wouldn’t be welcome.”

She started, but made no reply.  They went into breakfast.  Victoria gave the butler directions that the flowers should be sent to the Rectory.

After breakfast she followed Tatham into the library.  He stood silent a while by the window, looking out, his hands in his pockets; she beside him, leaning her head against his arm.

“It’s all over,” he said at last; “we decided it last night.”

“What’s over, dear old boy?”

“I broke our compact—­I couldn’t help it—­and we saw it couldn’t go on.”

“You—­asked her again?”

He nodded.  “It’s no good.  And now it only worries her that I should hang about.  We can’t—­even be friends.  It’s all my fault.”

“You poor darling!” cried his mother indignantly.  “She has played with you abominably.”

He flushed with anger.

“You mustn’t say that—­you mustn’t think it, mother!  All these weeks have been—­to the good.  They haven’t been the real thing.  But I shall always have them—­to remember.  Now it’s done with.”

Silence fell upon them again, while their minds went back over the history of the preceding six months.  Victoria felt very bitter.  And so, apparently, in his own way, did he.  For he presently said, with a vehemence which startled her: 

“I’d sooner be shot than see her marry that fellow!”

“Ah! you suspect that?”

“It looks like it,” he said reluctantly.  “And unless I’m much mistaken, he’s a mean cad!  But—­for her sake—­we’ll make sure—­we’ll give him every chance.”

“It is of course possible,” said Victoria grudgingly, “that he has honestly tried to do something for the Melroses.”

“I daresay!” said Tatham, with a shrug.