Tubbs. Just as he had said to himself
that it was no use waiting about all the afternoon, he saw Clara
approaching. At sight of him she manifested neither surprise nor
annoyance, but came forward with eyes carelessly averted. Not having
seen her for so long, Sidney was startled by the change in her
features; her cheeks had sunk, her eyes were unnaturally dark, there
was something worse than the familiar self-will about her lips.
'I've been waiting to see you,' he said. 'Will you walk along here
for a minute or two?'
'What do you want to say? I'm tired.'
'Mrs. Tubbs has told your mother what has happened, and she came to
me. Your father doesn't know yet.'
'It's nothing to me whether he knows or not. I've left the place,
that's all, and I'm going to live here till I've got another.'
'Why not go home?'
'Because I don't choose to. I don't see that it concerns you, Mr.
Kirkwood.'
Their eyes met, and Sidney felt how little fitted he was to reason
with the girl, even would she consent to hear him. His mood was the
wrong one; the torrid sunshine seemed to kindle an evil fire in him,
and with difficulty he kept back words of angry unreason; he even--
strangest of inconsistencies--experienced a kind of brutal
pleasure in her obvious misery.
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