Part 21 (1/2)
”That's all right,” he said, and added with a sullen curiosity, ”Is he the one who's going to adopt you?”
”Yes.”
”He hasn't done it yet?”
”I'm not sure that I want to go. George, shall I tell you something?
Something charming, a pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night--I did call you!”
”Well,” he said after a pause, ”I knew that.”
”You weren't certain. Tell the truth! Were you certain?”
”No, I was not,” he said with the sulky honesty which should have moved her.
”And had you been thinking of me?”
He would not answer that.
”I shan't be hurt,” she said, swaying from foot to foot, ”because I know!” Against the invading blackness her face and teeth gleamed clearly.
”You're like a black cat!” he burst out, in forgetfulness of himself.
”A witch's cat!”
”A witch.”
”Do you think witches are ever afraid? Only when they see the cross, isn't it? But I was, George, when I called out.”
”What of?”
”I--don't know. The quietness and the dark.”
He gave a short laugh which tried to conceal his pleasure in her weakness.
”Aren't you ever?”
”Can't remember it.”
”Not of anything?”
”No.”
”How--stupid of you.”
”Stupid?”
”Yes, when the world's full of things you don't understand.”
”But nothing happens.”
That was her own complaint, but from him the words came in the security of content. ”But tonight--” she began, s.h.i.+vered lightly and raised her hand. ”What's that?”