“If I were you,” said Barker, “I would write at once and say ‘Yes.’  Why can’t you do it now?”

“Because I have not made up my mind.”

“Well, a bird in the hand is the soul of business, as the good old proverb says.  I have accepted for myself, anyhow; but I would be sorry to leave you on this side.”

So Claudius went to the Countess as usual, and found her in her morning-room awaiting him.  He bent over her hand, but as he took it he thought it was a trifle colder than usual.  It might have been imagination, but he fancied her whole manner was less cordial than before.  And he said to himself, “She has heard I am going, and she is annoyed, and is not glad to see me.”  There was a preternatural solemnity about their conversation which neither of them could break through, and in a few minutes they both looked as though they had not smiled for years.

Now Claudius was entirely mistaken.  Margaret had not heard that he was going.  If she had, she would have spoken frankly, as was her nature to do always, if she spoke at all.  Margaret had accepted the Duke’s invitation, and intended to keep her word, and she had no suspicion whatever of who the other guests might be.  She foresaw that such a journey would break up her acquaintance with Claudius, and she regretted it; and especially she regretted having allowed the Doctor so much intimacy and so many visits.  Not that he had taken advantage of the footing on which he was received, for any signs of such a disposition on his part would have abruptly terminated the situation; he had been the very model of courtesy from the first.  But she knew enough of men to perceive that this gentle homage clothed a more sincere admiration than lay at the root of the pushing attentions of some other men she had known.  Therefore she made up her mind that as there were yet three weeks before sailing, after the expiration of which she would never be likely to see Claudius again, she would let him down easily, so to speak, that there might be no over-tender recollections on his part, nor any little stings of remorse on her own.  He had interested her; they had spent a couple of pleasant months; she had given him no encouragement, and he was gone without a sigh:  that was the way in which Countess Margaret hoped to remember Dr. Claudius by that time next month.  And so, fearing lest she might inadvertently have been the least shade too cordial, she began to be a little more severe, on this hot morning when Claudius, full of indecision, followed her out to their favourite reading-place under the trees.  It was the same spot where they had sat when Barker first brought him to see her.  Margaret had no particular feeling about the little nook under the trees.  It was merely the most convenient place to sit and work; that was all.  But to Claudius the circle of green sward represented the temple of his soul, and Margaret was to him Rune Wife and prophetess as well as divinity.  In such places, and of such women, his fair-haired forefathers, bare-armed and sword-girt, had asked counsel in trouble, and song-inspiration in peace.