American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
This was said in a manner that made Mrs. Dyott, with a visible mixture
of impressions, suddenly turn away. She indulged in a vague movement or
two, as if to look for something; then again found herself near her
friend, on whom with the same abruptness, in fact with a strange
sharpness, she conferred a kiss that might have represented either her
tribute to exalted consistency or her idea of a graceful close of the
discussion. "You deserve that one should speak FOR you!"
Her companion looked cheerful and secure. "How CAN you without
knowing--?"
"Oh by guessing! It's not--?"
But that was as far as Mrs. Dyott could get. "It's not," said Maud, "any
one you've ever seen."
"Ah then I give you up!"
And Mrs. Dyott conformed for the rest of Maud's stay to the spirit of
this speech. It was made on a Saturday night, and Mrs. Blessingbourne
remained till the Wednesday following, an interval during which, as the
return of fine weather was confirmed by the Sunday, the two ladies found
a wider range of action. There were drives to be taken, calls made,
objects of interest seen at a distance; with the effect of much easy
talk and still more easy silence. There had been a question of Colonel
Voyt's probable return on the Sunday, but the whole time passed without
a sign from him, and it was merely mentioned by Mrs. Dyott, in
explanation, that he must have been suddenly called, as he was so liable
to be, to town. That this in fact was what had happened he made clear to
her on Thursday afternoon, when, walking over again late, he found her
alone. The consequence of his Sunday letters had been his taking, that
day, the 4.15. Mrs. Voyt had gone back on Thursday, and he now, to
settle on the spot the question of a piece of work begun at his place,
had rushed down for a few hours in anticipation of the usual collective
move for the week's end. He was to go up again by the late train, and
had to count a little--a fact accepted by his hostess with the hard
pliancy of practice--his present happy moments. Too few as these were,
however, he found time to make of her an inquiry or two not directly
bearing on their situation. The first was a recall of the question for
which Mrs. Blessingbourne's entrance on the previous Saturday had
arrested her answer. Had that lady the idea of anything between them?
"No. I'm sure. There's one idea she has got," Mrs. Dyott went on; "but
it's quite different and not so very wonderful."
"What then is it?"
"Well, that she's herself in love."
Voyt showed his interest. "You mean she told you?"
"I got it out of her."
He showed his amusement. "Poor thing! And with whom?"
"With you."
His surprise, if the distinction might be made, was less than his
wonder. "You got that out of her too?"
"No--it remains in. Which is much the best way for it. For you to know
it would be to end it."
He looked rather cheerfully at sea. "Is that then why you tell me?"
"I mean for her to know you know it. Therefore it's in your interest not
to let her."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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