Part 14 (1/2)
”I was very certain of my conclusions at the time,” Marlow went on impatiently. ”But don't think for a moment that Mrs Fyne in her new att.i.tude and toying thoughtfully with a teaspoon was about to surrender.
She murmured:--
”It's the last thing I should have thought could happen.”
”You didn't suppose they were romantic enough,” I suggested dryly.
She let it pa.s.s and with great decision but as if speaking to herself, ”Roderick really must be warned.”
She didn't give me the time to ask of what precisely. She raised her head and addressed me.
”I am surprised and grieved more than I can tell you at Mr Fyne's resistance. We have been always completely at one on every question.
And that we should differ now on a point touching my brother so closely is a most painful surprise to me.” Her hand rattled the teaspoon brusquely by an involuntary movement. ”It is intolerable,” she added tempestuously--for Mrs Fyne that is. I suppose she had nerves of her own like any other woman.
Under the porch where Fyne had sought refuge with the dog there was silence. I took it for a proof of deep sagacity. I don't mean on the part of the dog. He was a confirmed fool.
I said:
”You want absolutely to interfere...?” Mrs Fyne nodded just perceptibly... ”Well--for my part ... but I don't really know how matters stand at the present time. You have had a letter from Miss de Barral. What does that letter say?”
”She asks for her valise to be sent to her town address,” Mrs Fyne uttered reluctantly and stopped. I waited a bit--then exploded.
”Well! What's the matter? Where's the difficulty? Does your husband object to that? You don't mean to say that he wants you to appropriate the girl's clothes?”
”Mr Marlow!”
”Well, but you talk of a painful difference of opinion with your husband, and then, when I ask for information on the point, you bring out a valise. And only a few moments ago you reproached me for not being serious. I wonder who is the serious person of us two now.”
She smiled faintly and in a friendly tone, from which I concluded at once that she did not mean to show me the girl's letter, she said that undoubtedly the letter disclosed an understanding between Captain Anthony and Flora de Barral.
”What understanding?” I pressed her. ”An engagement is an understanding.”
”There is no engagement--not yet,” she said decisively. ”That letter, Mr Marlow, is couched in very vague terms. That is why--”
I interrupted her without ceremony.
”You still hope to interfere to some purpose. Isn't it so? Yes? But how should you have liked it if anybody had tried to interfere between you and Mr Fyne at the time when _your_ understanding with each other could still have been described in vague terms?”
She had a genuine movement of astonished indignation. It is with the accent of perfect sincerity that she cried out at me:
”But it isn't at all the same thing? How can you!”
Indeed how could I! The daughter of a poet and the daughter of a convict are not comparable in the consequences of their conduct if their necessity may wear at times a similar aspect. Amongst these consequences I could perceive undesirable cousins for these dear healthy girls, and such like, possible, causes of embarra.s.sment in the future.
”No! You can't be serious,” Mrs Fyne's smouldering resentment broke out again. ”You haven't thought--”
”Oh yes, Mrs Fyne! I have thought. I am still thinking. I am even trying to think like you.”
”Mr Marlow,” she said earnestly. ”Believe me that I really am thinking of my brother in all this...” I a.s.sured her that I quite believed she was. For there is no law of nature making it impossible to think of more than one person at a time. Then I said:
”She has told him all about herself of course.”