Part 33 (1/2)
”Surely, since this has come, that will come also.”
”And you--Mademoiselle?” I should not have asked that question had I known more of the world. It was tactless and unkind.
”For me it is no matter at all. I do not come in anywhere. As I said, I am happy.”
And turning quickly, yet not so quickly but that I saw her cheeks were flushed, she pa.s.sed out of the room. In a moment Mrs. Falchion entered.
There was something new in her carriage, in her person. She came towards me, held out her hand, and said, with the same old half-quizzical tone: ”Have you, with your unerring instinct, guessed that I was leaving, and so come to say good-bye?”
”You credit me too highly. No, I came to see you because I had an inclination. I did not guess that you were going until Miss Caron told me.”
”An inclination to see me is not your usual instinct, is it? Was it some special impulse, based on a scientific calculation--at which, I suppose, you are an adeptor curiosity? Or had it a purpose? Or were you bored, and therefore sought the most startling experience you could conceive?”
She deftly rearranged some flowers in a jar.
”I can plead innocence of all directly; I am guilty of all indirectly: I was impelled to come. I reasoned--if that is scientific--on what I should say if I did come, knowing how inclined I was to--”
”To get beyond my depth,” she interrupted, and she motioned me to a chair.
”Well, let it be so,” said I. ”I was curious to know what kept you in this sylvan, and I fear, to you, half-barbaric spot. I was bored with myself; and I had some purpose in coming, or I should not have had the impulse.”
She was leaning back in her chair easily, not languidly. She seemed reposeful, yet alert.
”How wonderfully you talk!” she said, with good-natured mockery. ”You are scientifically frank. You were bored with yourself.--Then there is some hope for your future wife.... We have had many talks in our acquaintance, Dr. Marmion, but none so interesting as this promises to be. But now tell me what your purpose was in coming. 'Purpose' seems portentous, but quite in keeping.”
I noticed here the familiar, almost imperceptible click of the small white teeth.
Was I so glad she was going that I was playful, elated? ”My purpose,”
said I, ”has no point now; for even if I were to propose to amuse you--I believe that was the old formula--by an idle day somewhere, by an excursion, an--”
”An autobiography,” she broke in soothingly.
”Or an autobiography,” I repeated stolidly, ”you would not, I fancy, be prepared to accept my services. There would be no chance--now that you are going away--for me to play the harlequin--”
”Whose office you could do pleasantly if it suited you--these adaptable natures!”
”Quite so. But it is all futile now, as I say.”
”Yes, you mentioned that before.--Well?”
”It is well,” I replied, dropping into a more meaning tone.
”You say it patriarchally, but yet flatteringly.” Here she casually offered me a flower. I mechanically placed it in my b.u.t.tonhole. She seemed delighted at confusing me. But I kept on firmly.
”I do not think,” I rejoined gravely now, ”that there need be any flattery between us.”
”Why?--We are not married.”
”That is as radically true as it is epigrammatic,” blurted I.
”And truth is more than epigram?”