But Wilton, whom grief had
reduced to the mental level of an oyster, did not reason this out; and
the sight of her deprived him of practically all his faculties,
including speech. He just stood there and yammered.
'Did you follow me here, Mr Wilton?' said Mary, very coldly.
He shook his head. Eventually he managed to say that he had come there
by chance, and had fallen asleep under the rock. As this was exactly
what Mary had done, she could not reasonably complain. So that
concluded the conversation for the time being. She walked away in the
direction of Marois Bay without another word, and presently he lost
sight of her round a bend in the cliffs.
His position now was exceedingly unpleasant. If she had such a distaste
for his presence, common decency made it imperative that he should give
her a good start on the homeward journey. He could not tramp along a
couple of yards in the rear all the way. So he had to remain where he
was till she had got well off the mark. And as he was wearing a thin
flannel suit, and the sun had gone in, and a chilly breeze had sprung
up, his mental troubles were practically swamped in physical
discomfort.
Just as he had decided that he could now make a move, he was surprised
to see her coming back.
Wilton really was elated at this. The construction he put on it was
that she had relented and was coming back to fling her arms round his
neck. He was just bracing himself for the clash, when he caught her
eye, and it was as cold and unfriendly as the sea.
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