"I didn't have to--she wrote and asked me last night. But no doubt you
have seen her since."
Thursdale sat silent. He was trying to separate his words from his
thoughts, but they still clung together inextricably. "I saw her off
just now at the station."
"And she didn't tell you that she had been here again?"
"There was hardly time, I suppose--there were people about--" he
floundered.
"Ah, she'll write, then."
He regained his composure. "Of course she'll write: very often, I hope.
You know I'm absurdly in love," he cried audaciously.
She tilted her head back, looking up at him as he leaned against the
chimney-piece. He had leaned there so often that the attitude touched a
pulse which set up a throbbing in her throat. "Oh, my poor Thursdale!"
she murmured.
"I suppose it's rather ridiculous," he owned; and as she remained
silent, he added, with a sudden break--"Or have you another reason for
pitying me?"
Her answer was another question. "Have you been back to your rooms
since you left her?"
"Since I left her at the station? I came straight here."
"Ah, yes--you _could:_ there was no reason--" Her words passed into a
silent musing.
Thursdale moved nervously nearer. "You said you had something to tell
me?"
"Perhaps I had better let her do so. There may be a letter at your
rooms."
"A letter? What do you mean? A letter from _her?_ What has happened?"
His paleness shook her, and she raised a hand of reassurance. "Nothing
has happened--perhaps that is just the worst of it. You always _hated_,
you know," she added incoherently, "to have things happen: you never
would let them."
"And now--?"
"Well, that was what she came here for: I supposed you had guessed. To
know if anything had happened."
"Had happened?" He gazed at her slowly. "Between you and me?" he said
with a rush of light.
The words were so much cruder than any that had ever passed between
them that the color rose to her face; but she held his startled gaze.
"You know girls are not quite as unsophisticated as they used to be.
Are you surprised that such an idea should occur to her?"
His own color answered hers: it was the only reply that came to him.
Mrs. Vervain went on, smoothly: "I supposed it might have struck you
that there were times when we presented that appearance."