Carey and Laura drove away. Petra North had gone. The Maxwells had gone. The days they had spent in the Priory between Wednesday and Sunday were gone, joined with dead days of dead, forgotten years. Perhaps some day they would be forgotten too.
Neither Carey nor Laura looked back, and neither spoke. They had seen Agnes Fane for a brief moment, rigid, indomitable—a courteous hostess bidding two guests farewell. Each in turn touched the ice-cold hand upon which there was still a fine glitter of diamonds. There was no word on either side of any future meeting. The inward shudder which Laura could conceal but not control still shook her as they drove on silently through the grey afternoon.
Presently when the road passed through woodland where great ramparts of holly rose shining and darkly green under the bare boughs of oak and chestnut, Carey drew in to the side and stopped the car. He put his arms round Laura and drew her close.
“Darling, you’re so cold.”
She said in a forlorn whisper,
“I don’t think I shall ever be warm again.”
“Oh, yes, you will. I’ll make you warm. And you’re not to shake—there’s nothing to shake about now.”
She said, “I can’t stop. I don’t feel as if I shall ever be able to stop. I keep seeing her.”
His voice sounded rough and angry.
“You won’t see her again any more—ever. You won’t see any of them again. We’re going to be married on Thursday. Three clear week-days—that’s the quickest you can do it, unless you drag in the Archbishop of Canterbury and pay about thirty pounds for a special licence. So I thought Thursday.”
“Carey, I couldn’t!”
“You just see! You just stop thinking about a lot of bad old women and begin thinking about me, and you, and me— particularly me. We’re going to be married on Thursday— you’re going to be Laura Desborough. We’ll go and set it all in train tomorrow morning. We’ll have to get a wedding ring, you know, and you can choose your engagement ring at the same time—your aunt won’t think it’s legal without one. And you’d better telephone her to come up and give you away.”
“Carey, she won’t!”
“Then we’ll do without her. We’re both of age. Darling, couldn’t you stop shaking? It’s all over. We’re young—we’re in love. You’ve no idea how tremendously I’m in love with you, but you’re going to find out.”
He held her away and looked at her with something in his eyes which drove the cold shaking from Laura’s heart.
“Snap out of it, darling, and kiss me! We’re wasting time.”
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