Part 43 (1/2)
”You have a telephone, I suppose,” said Bidiane, in an eminently practical tone of voice.
”Yes, I have,” and he relapsed into silence.
”Here we are together, we three,” said Bidiane, impulsively. ”How I wish that Mr. Nimmo could see us.”
Rose lost some of her beautiful color. These continual references to her lover were very trying. ”I will leave you two to amuse each other for a few minutes, while I go and ask Celina to make us some tea _a l'anglaise_.”
”I should not have said that,” exclaimed Bidiane, gazing after her; ”how easy it is to talk too much. Each night, when I go to bed, I lie awake thinking of all the foolish things I have said during the day, and I con over sensible speeches that I might have uttered. I suppose you never do that?”
”Why not, mademoiselle?”
”Oh, because you are older, and because you are so clever. Really, I am quite afraid of you,” and she demurely glanced at him from under her curly eyelashes.
”Once you were not afraid,” he remarked, cautiously.
”No; but now you must be very learned.”
”I always was fond of study.”
”Mr. Nimmo says that some day you will be a judge, and then probably you will write a book. Will you?”
”Some day, perhaps. At present, I only write short articles for magazines and newspapers.”
”How charming! What are they about?”
”They are mostly Acadien and historical.”
”Do you ever write stories--love stories?”
”Sometimes, mademoiselle.”
”Delicious! May I read them?”
”I do not know,” and he smiled. ”You would probably be too much amused.
You would think they were true.”
”And are they not?”
”Oh, no, although some have a slight foundation of fact.”
Bidiane stared curiously at him, opened her lips, closed them again, set her small white teeth firmly, as if bidding them stand guard over some audacious thought, then at last burst out with it, for she was still excited and animated by her journey, and was bubbling over with delight at being released from the espionage of strangers to whom she could not talk freely. ”You have been in love, of course?”
Agapit modestly looked at his boots.
”You find me unconventional,” cried Bidiane, in alarm. ”Mrs. Nimmo says I will never get over it. I do not know what I shall do,--but here, at least, on the Bay, I thought it would not so much matter. Really, it was a consolation in leaving Paris.”
”Mademoiselle, it is not that,” he said, hesitatingly. ”I a.s.sure you, the question has been asked before, with not so much delicacy--But with whom should I fall in love?”
”With any one. It must be a horrible sensation. I have never felt it, but I cry very often over tales of lovers. Possibly you are like Madame de Foret, you do not care to marry.”