Part 41 (2/2)

The Nun did not feel that she was getting on much with the secret object of her visit; she even felt the impulse to get on with it weakened. She was more inclined just to have a friendly, a consoling chat. However business was business. To get on she must take a little risk. She dug the earth on the edge of the pond with the point of her sunshade and observed carelessly, ”If you very particularly wanted to stay at Nutley, I should have thought you might have the chance.”

”Oh, are people gossiping about that? Poor Mr. Wellgood!”

”It was the observation of my own eyes,” said the Nun sedately. ”Oh, of course you can deny it if you like, though I don't see why you should--and I shan't believe you.”

”If you've such confidence in your own eyes as that, Miss Flower, it would be wasting my breath to try to convince you. Have it your own way.

But even that would be--a new place. And I've told you that I'm afraid of new places.”

”All plunges aren't into cold water,” the Nun observed reflectively.

”That one would be colder, I think, than a quite strange plunge--away from Nutley.”

”It's a great pity we're not built so as to fall in love conveniently.

It would have been so nice for you to stay--in the new place.”

”I'm only letting you have it your own way, Miss Flower. I've admitted nothing.”

”All that appears at present is that you needn't go if you don't like--and yet you cry about going!”

Isobel smiled.

”I might cry at leaving all my friends, especially at leaving Vivien, without wanting to stop--with Mr. Wellgood, as you insist on having it.

Is that comprehensible?”

”Well, I expect I've asked enough questions,” said the cunning Nun, wondering hard how she could contrive to ask another--and get an answer to it. ”But in Meriton there's nothing to do but gossip to and about one's friends. That's what makes it so jolly. Why, this wedding is simply occupation for all of us! What shall we do when it's over? Oh, well, I shall be gone, I suppose.”

”And so shall I--so we needn't trouble about that.”

The Nun was baffled. A strange impa.s.sivity seemed to fall on her companion the moment that the talk was of Harry's wedding. She tried once again.

”I do hope it'll turn out well.”

Isobel offered no comment whatever. In truth she was not sure of herself; her agitation was too recent and had been too violent--it might return.

”I've known Harry for so long--and I like Miss Wellgood so much.” She gave as interrogative a note as she could to her remarks--without asking direct questions. ”I think he really is in love at last!” Surely, that ought to draw some question or remark--that ”at last”? It drew nothing.

”But--well, we used to say one never knew with poor Harry!” (”Further than that,” thought the Nun, ”without telling tales, I cannot go.”)

Isobel sat silent.

The result was meagre. Isobel would talk about Wellgood, evasively but without embarra.s.sment; references to Harry Belfield reduced her to silence. It was a little new light on the past; its bearing on the future, if any, was negative. She would not, it seemed, stay at Nutley with Wellgood. She would not talk of Harry. She had been crying. The crying was the satisfactory feature in the case.

The Nun rose.

”I must go in and see Miss Wellgood.”

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