“No,” I said, “she’ll not come back.”
“I never said nothing, did I?” he said.
“No, of course not; don’t worry,” I said.
He bent down again to his digging, muttering to himself. I went across the shingle and I saw Maxim waiting for me by the rocks, his hands in his pockets.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Jasper would not come. I had to get some string.”
He turned abruptly on his heel, and made towards the woods.
“Aren’t we going back over the rocks?” I said.
“What’s the point? We’re here now,” he said briefly.
We went up past the cottage and struck into a path through the woods. “I’m sorry I was such a time; it was Jasper’s fault,” I said, “he kept barking at the man. Who was he?”
“Only Ben,” said Maxim; “he’s quite harmless, poor devil. His old father used to be one of the keepers; they live near the home farm. Where did you get that piece of twine?”
“I found it in the cottage on the beach,” I said.
“Was the door open?” he asked.
“Yes, I pushed it open. I found the string in the other room, where the sails were, and a small boat.”
“Oh,” he said shortly. “Oh, I see,” and then he added, after a moment or two: “That cottage is supposed to be locked, the door has no business to be open.”
I said nothing; it was not my affair.
“Did Ben tell you the door was open?”
“No,” I said, “he did not seem to understand anything I asked him.”
“He makes out he’s worse than he is,” said Maxim. “He can talk quite intelligibly if he wants to. He’s probably been in and out of the cottage dozens of times, and did not want you to know.”
“I don’t think so,” I answered; “the place looked deserted, quite untouched. There was dust everywhere, and no footmarks. It was terribly damp. I’m afraid those books will be quite spoiled, and the chairs, and that sofa. There are rats there, too; they have eaten away some of the covers.”
Maxim did not reply. He walked at a tremendous pace, and the climb up from the beach was steep. It was very different from the Happy Valley. The trees were dark here and close together, there were no azaleas brushing the path. The rain dripped heavily from the thick branches. It splashed on my collar and trickled down my neck. I shivered; it was unpleasant, like a cold finger. My legs ached, after the unaccustomed scramble over the rocks. And Jasper lagged behind, weary from his wild scamper, his tongue hanging from his mouth.
“Come on, Jasper, for God’s sake,” said Maxim. “Make him walk up, pull at the twine or something, can’t you? Beatrice was right. The dog is much too fat.”
“It’s your fault,” I said, “you walk so fast. We can’t keep up with you.”
“If you had listened to me instead of rushing wildly over those rocks we would have been home by now,” said Maxim. “Jasper knew his way back perfectly. I can’t think what you wanted to go after him for.”
“I thought he might have fallen, and I was afraid of the tide,” I said.
“Is it likely I should have left the dog had there been any question of the tide?” said Maxim. “I told you not to go on those rocks, and now you are grumbling because you are tired.”
“I’m not grumbling,” I said. “Anyone, even if they had legs of iron, would be tired walking at this pace. I thought you would come with me when I went after Jasper anyway, instead of staying behind.”
“Why should I exhaust myself careering after the damn dog?” he said.
“It was no more exhausting careering after Jasper on the rocks than it was careering after the driftwood on the beach,” I answered. “You just say that because you have not any other excuse.”
“My good child, what am I supposed to excuse myself about?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said wearily; “let’s stop this.”
“Not at all, you began it. What do you mean by saying I was trying to find an excuse? Excuse for what?”
“Excuse for not having come with me over the rocks, I suppose,” I said.
“Well, and why do you think I did not want to cross to the other beach?”
“Oh, Maxim, how should I know? I’m not a thought-reader. I know you did not want to, that’s all. I could see it in your face.”
“See what in my face?”