The next two days were not quite so triumphant to Ayala as had been the evening of her arrival.
There was hunting on both of those days, the gentlemen having gone on the Friday away out of Sir Harry’s country to the Brake hounds. Ayala and the Colonel had arrived on the Thursday. Ayala had not expected to be asked to hunt again — had not even thought about it. It had been arranged before on Nina’s account, and Nina now was not to hunt any more. Lord George did not altogether approve of it, and Nina was quite in accord with Lord George — though she had held up her whip and shaken it in triumph when she jumped over the Cranbury Brook. And the horse which Ayala had ridden was no longer in the stables. “My dear, I am so sorry; but I’m afraid we can’t mount you,” Lady Albury said. In answer to this Ayala declared that she had not thought of it for a moment. But yet the days seemed to be dull with her. Lady Rufford was — well — perhaps a little patronising to her, and patronage such as that was not at all to Ayala’s taste. “Lady Albury seems to be quite a kind friend to you,” Lady Rufford said. Nothing could be more true. The idea implied was true also — the idea that such a one as Ayala was much in luck’s way to find such a friend as Lady Albury. It was true no doubt; but, nevertheless, it was ungracious, and had to be resented. “A very kind friend, indeed. Some people only make friends of those who are as grand as themselves.”
“I am sure we should be very glad to see you at Rufford if you remain long in the country,” said Lady Rufford, a little time afterwards. But even in this there was not a touch of that cordiality which might have won Ayala’s heart. “I am not at all likely to stay,” said Ayala. “I live with my uncle and aunt at Notting Hill, and I very rarely go away from home.” Lady Rufford, however, did not quite understand it. It had been whispered to her that morning that Ayala was certainly going to marry Colonel Stubbs; and, if so, why should she not come to Rufford?
On that day, the Friday, she was taken in to dinner by Captain Glomax. “I remember quite as if it were yesterday,” said the Captain. “It was the day we rode the Cranbury Brook.”
Ayala looked up into his face, also remembering everything as well as it were yesterday. “Mr Twentyman rode over it,” she said, “and Colonel Stubbs rode into it.”
“Oh, yes; Stubbs got a ducking; so he did.” The Captain had not got a ducking, but then he had gone round by the road. “It was a good run that.”
“I thought so.”
“We haven’t been lucky since Sir Harry has had the hounds somehow. There doesn’t seem to be the dash about ’em there used to be when I was here. I had them before Sir Harry, you know.” All this was nearly in a whisper.
“Were you Master?” asked Ayala, with a tone of surprise which was not altogether pleasing to the Captain.
“Indeed I was, but the fag of it was too great, and the thanks too small, so I gave it up. They used to get four days a week out of me.” During the two years that the Captain had had the hounds, there had been, no doubt, two or three weeks in which he had hunted four days.
Ayala liked hunting, but she did not care much for Captain Glomax, who, having seen her once or twice on horseback, would talk to her about nothing else. A little away on the other side of the table Nina was sitting next to Colonel Stubbs, and she could hear their voices and almost their words. Nina and Jonathan were first cousins, and, of course, could be happy together without giving her any cause for jealousy — but she almost envied Nina. Yet she had hoped that it might not fall to her lot to be taken out again that evening by the Colonel. Hitherto she had not even spoken to him during the day. They had started to the meet very early, and the gentlemen had almost finished their breakfast before she had come down. If there had been any fault it was her fault, but yet she almost felt that there was something of a disruption between them. It was so evident to her that he was perfectly happy whilst he was talking to Nina.
After dinner it seemed to be very late before the men came into the drawing-room, and then they were still engaged upon that weary talk about hunting, till Lady Rufford, in order to put a stop to it, offered to sing. “I always do”, she said, if Rufford ventures to name a fox in the drawing-room after dinner.” She did sing, and Ayala thought that the singing was more weary than the talk about hunting.
While this was going on, the Colonel had got himself shut up in a corner of the room. Lady Albury had first taken him there, and afterwards he had been hemmed in when Lady Rufford sat down to the piano. Ayala had hardly ventured even to glance at him, but yet she knew all that he did, and heard almost every word that he spoke. The words were not many, but still when he did speak his voice was cheerful. Nina now and again had run up to him, and Lady Rufford had asked him some questions about the music. But why didn’t he come and speak to her? thought Ayala. Though all that nonsense about love was over, still he ought not to have allowed a day to pass at Stalham without speaking to her. He was the oldest friend there in that house except Nina. It was indeed no more than nine months since she had first seen him, but still it seemed to her that he was an old friend. She did feel, as she endeavoured to answer the questions that Lord Rufford was asking her, that Jonathan Stubbs was treating her unkindly.
Then came the moment in which Lady Albury marshalled her guests out of the room towards their chambers. “Have you found yourself dull without the hunting?” the Colonel said to Ayala.
“Oh dear no; I must have a dull time if I do, seeing that I have only hunted three days in my life.” There was something in the tone of her voice which, as she herself was aware, almost expressed dissatisfaction. And yet not for worlds would she have shown herself to be dissatisfied with him could she have helped it.
“I thought that perhaps you might have regretted the little pony,” he said.
“Because a thing has been very pleasant, it should not be regretted because it cannot be had always.”
“To me a thing may become so pleasant, that unless I can have it always my life must be one long regret.”
“The pony is not quite like that,” said Ayala, smiling as she followed the other ladies out of the room.
On the next morning the meet was nearer, and some of the ladies were taken there in an open carriage. Lady Rufford went, and Mrs Gosling, and Nina and Ayala. “Of course there is a place for you,” Lady Albury had said to her. “Had I wanted to go I would have made Sir Harry send the drag; but I’ve got to stop at home and see that the buttered toast is ready by the time the gentlemen all come back.” The morning was almost warm, so that the sportsmen were saying evil things of violets and primroses, as is the wont of sportsmen on such occasions, and at the meet the ladies got out of the carriage and walked about among the hounds, making civil speeches to old Tony. “No, my lady,” said Tony, I don’t like these sunshiny mornings at all; there ain’t no kind of scent, and I goes riding about these big woods, up and down, till my shirt is as wet on my back with the sweat as though I’d been pulled through the river.” Then Lady Rufford walked away and did not ask Tony any more questions.
Ayala was patting one of the hounds when the Colonel, who had given his horse to a groom, came and joined her. “If you don’t regret that pony,” said he, “somebody else does.
“I do regret him in one way, of course. I did like it very much; but I don’t think it nice, when much has been done for me, to say that I want to have more done.”
“Of course I knew what you meant.”
“Perhaps you would go and tell Sir Harry and then he would think me very ungrateful.”
“Ayala,” he said, I will never say anything of you that will make anybody think evil of you. But, between ourselves, as Sir Harry is not here, I suppose I may confess that I regret the pony.”
“I should like it, of course,” whispered Ayala.
“And so should I— so much! I suppose all these men here would think me an ass if they knew how little I care about the day’s work — whether we find, or whether we run, or whether we kill — just because the pony is not here. If the pony were here I should have that feeling of expectation of joy, which is so common to girls when some much-thought-of ball or promised pleasure is just before them.” Then Tony went off with his hounds, and Jonathan, mounting his horse, followed with the ruck.
Ayala knew very well what the pony meant, as spoken of by the Colonel. When he declared that he regretted the pony, it was because the pony might have carried herself. He had meant her to understand that the much-thought-of ball or promised pleasure would have been the delight of again riding with herself. And then he had again called her Ayala. She could remember well every occasion on which he had addressed her by her Christian name. It had been but seldom. Once, however, it had occurred in the full flow of their early intimacy, before that love-making had been begun. It had struck her as being almost wrong, but still as very pleasant. If it might be made right by some feeling of brotherly friendship, how pleasant would it be! And now she would like it again, if only it might be taken as a sign of friendship rather than of love. It never occurred to her to be angry as she would have been angry with any other man. How she would have looked at Captain Batsby had he dared to call her Ayala! Colonel Stubbs should call her Ayala as long as he pleased — if it were done only in friendship.
After that they were driven about for a while, seeing what Tony did with the hounds, as tidings came to them now and again that ............