Country homes -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
"I think I can understand well enough when I know what's to be
understood," the young man asserted. "But I hope you won't mind my
saying that you've kept me pretty well in the dark about that. I've been
waiting, waiting, waiting; so much has depended on your news. If you've
been working for me I'm afraid it has been a thankless job. Can't she
say what she'll do, one way or the other? I can't tell in the least
where I am, you know. I haven't really learnt from you, since I saw you
there, where _she_ is. You wrote me to be patient, and upon my soul I
have been. But I'm afraid you don't quite realize what I'm to be patient
with. At Waterbath, don't you know? I've simply to account and answer
for the damned things. Mona looks at me and waits, and I, hang it, I
look at you and do the same." Fleda had gathered fuller confidence as he
continued; so plain was it that she had succeeded in not dropping into
his mind the spark that might produce the glimmer invoked by his mother.
But even this fine assurance gave a start when, after an appealing
pause, he went on: "I hope, you know, that after all you're not keeping
anything back from me."
In the full face of what she was keeping back such a hope could only
make her wince; but she was prompt with her explanations in proportion
as she felt they failed to meet him. The smutty maid came in with
tea-things, and Fleda, moving several objects, eagerly accepted the
diversion of arranging a place for them on one of the tables. "I've been
trying to break your mother down because it has seemed there may be some
chance of it. That's why I've let you go on expecting it. She's too
proud to veer round all at once, but I think I speak correctly in saying
that I've made an impression."
In spite of ordering tea she had not invited him to sit down; she
herself made a point of standing. He hovered by the window that looked
into Raphael Road; she kept at the other side of the room; the stunted
slavey, gazing wide-eyed at the beautiful gentleman and either stupidly
or cunningly bringing but one thing at a time, came and went between the
tea-tray and the open door.
"You pegged at her so hard?" Owen asked.
"I explained to her fully your position and put before her much more
strongly than she liked what seemed to me her absolute duty."
Owen waited a little. "And having done that, you departed?"
Fleda felt the full need of giving a reason for her departure; but at
first she only said with cheerful frankness: "I departed."
Her companion again looked at her in silence. "I thought you had gone to
her for several months."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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