The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 2, July 1894
General
The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 2, July 1894
English literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Great Britain -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
I'm afraid that at this my levity increased. "Oh, that's a happiness
almost too great to wish a person!" I saw she had not yet in her mind
what I had in mine, and at any rate the visitor's actual bliss was
limited to a walk in the garden with Kent Mulville. Later in the
afternoon I also took one, and I saw nothing of Miss Anvoy till
dinner, at which we were without the company of Saltram, who had
caused it to be reported that he was out of sorts and lying down. This
made us, most of us--for there were other friends present--convey to
each other in silence some of the unutterable things which in those
years our eyes had inevitably acquired the art of expressing. If an
American inquirer had not been there we would have expressed them
otherwise, and Adelaide would have pretended not to hear. I had seen
her, before the very fact, abstract herself nobly; and I knew that
more than once, to keep it from the servants, managing, dissimulating
cleverly, she had helped her husband to carry him bodily to his room.
Just recently he had been so wise and so deep and so high that I had
begun to be nervous--to wonder if by chance there were something
behind it, if he were kept straight, for instance, by the knowledge
that the hated Pudneys would have more to tell us if they chose. He
was lying low, but unfortunately it was common knowledge with us that
the biggest splashes took place in the quietest pools. We should have
had a merry life indeed if all the splashes had sprinkled us as
refreshingly as the waters we were even then to feel about our ears.
Kent Mulville had been up to his room, but had come back with a facial
inscrutability that I had seen him achieve in equal measure only on
the evening I waited in the lecture-room with Miss Anvoy. I said to
myself that our friend had gone out, but I was glad that the presence
of a comparative stranger deprived us of the dreary duty of suggesting
to each other, in respect of his errand, edifying possibilities in
which we didn't ourselves believe. At ten o'clock he came into the
drawing-room with his waistcoat much awry but his eyes sending out
great signals. It was precisely with his entrance that I ceased to be
vividly conscious of him. I saw that the crystal, as I had called it,
had begun to swing, and I had need of my immediate attention for Miss
Anvoy.
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