Part 12 (2/2)
”That is what everybody thinks, except her husband,” Winifred laughed.
”Is he blind then?” asked John with his cloistral _navete_.
”Blind? No, love is blind. Marriage is never blind.”
The bitterness in her tone pierced John. He felt vaguely the pa.s.sing of some icy current from unknown seas of experience. Cecilia's voice soared out enchantingly.
”Then, marriage must be deaf,” he said, ”or such music as that would charm it.”
She smiled sadly. Her smile was the tricksy play of moonlight among clouds of faery.
”You have never been married,” she said simply.
”Do you mean that you, too, are neglected?” something impelled him to exclaim.
”Worse,” she murmured.
”It is incredible!” he cried. ”You!”
”Hus.h.!.+ My husband will hear you.”
Her warning whisper brought him into a delicious conspiracy with her.
”Which is your husband?” he whispered back.
”There! Near the cas.e.m.e.nt, standing gazing open-mouthed at Cecilia.
He always opens his mouth when she sings. It is like two toys moved by the same wire.”
He looked at the tall, stalwart, ruddy-haired Anglo-Saxon. ”Do you mean to say he--?”
”I mean to say nothing.”
”But you said--”
”I said 'worse.'”
”Why, what can be worse?”
She put her hand over her face. ”I am ashamed to tell you.” How adorable was that half-divined blus.h.!.+
”But you must tell me everything.” He scarcely knew how he had leapt into this _role_ of confessor. He only felt they were ”moved by the same wire.”
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