On her part, Miss Anderson seemed to find reason for resentment in Alice’s bearing toward her.  As if she had said to herself that her frank loyalty had been thrown away upon a cold and unresponsive nature, and that her harmless follies in the play had been met with unjust suspicions, she began to make reprisals, she began in dead earnest to flirt with Mavering.  Before the evening passed she had made him seem taken with her; but how justly she had done this, and with how much fault of his, no one could have said.  There were some who did not notice it at all, but these were not people who knew Mavering, or knew Alice very well.

XX.

The next morning Alice was walking slowly along the road toward the fishing village, when she heard rapid, plunging strides down the wooded hillside on her right.  She knew them for Mavering’s, and she did not affect surprise when he made a final leap into the road, and shortened his pace beside her.

“May I join you, Miss Pasmer?”

“I am only going down to the herring-houses,” she began.

“And you’ll let me go with you?” said the young fellow.  “The fact is—­you’re always so frank that you make everything else seem silly—­I’ve been waiting up there in the woods for you to come by.  Mrs. Pasmer told me you had started this way, and I cut across lots to overtake you, and then, when you came in sight, I had to let you pass before I could screw my courage up to the point of running after you.  How is that for open-mindedness?”

“It’s a very good beginning, I should think.”

“Well, don’t you think you ought to say now that you’re sorry you were so formidable?”

“Am I so formidable?” she asked, and then recognised that she had been trapped into a leading question.

“You are to me.  Because I would like always to be sure that I had pleased you, and for the last twelve hours I’ve only been able to make sure that I hadn’t.  That’s the consolation I’m going away with.  I thought I’d get you to confirm my impression explicitly.  That’s why I wished to join you.”

“Are you—­were you going away?”

“I’m going by the next boat.  What’s the use of staying?  I should only make bad worse.  Yesterday I hoped But last night spoiled everything.  ‘Miss Pasmer,’” he broke out, with a rush of feeling, “you must know why I came up here to Campobello.”

His steps took him a little ahead of her, and he could look back into her face as he spoke.  But apparently he saw nothing in it to give him courage to go on, for he stopped, and then continued, lightly:  “And I’m going away because I feel that I’ve made a failure of the expedition.  I knew that you were supremely disgusted with me last night; but it will be a sort of comfort if you’ll tell me so.”

“Oh,” said Alice, “everybody thought it was very brilliant, I’m sure.”

“And you thought it was a piece of buffoonery.  Well, it was.  I wish you’d say so, Miss Pasmer; though I didn’t mean the playing entirely.  It would be something to start from, and I want to make a beginning—­turn over a new leaf.  Can’t you help me to inscribe a good resolution of the most iron-clad description on the stainless page?  I’ve lain awake all night composing one.  Wouldn’t you like to hear it?”