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To abuse himself was one thing, the privilege which an Englishman is ready enough to exercise; to have his thoughts uttered to him by his sister with feminine neatness and candour was quite another matter. Mrs. Rossall had in vain attempted to stem the flood of wrath rushing Channelwards.
'Oh, the "Spectator," Wilfrid replied, rousing himself from absentness. 'Yes, I had it in the summer-house just before dinner; I believe I left it there. Shall I fetch it? 'It would serve you right if I said yes, admonished Mrs. Rossall. 'In the first place you had no business to be reading it 'I will go, Wilfrid said, rising with an effort. 'No, no; it will do to-morrow.
Wilfrid was not disposed to take his usual part in conversation, and his casual remarks were scarcely ever addressed to Beatrice. Presently Mrs. Rossall wished to refer to the 'Spectator, which contained a criticism of a new pianist of whom there was much talk just then. 'Have you had it, Wilf? Mr. Athel asked, after turning over a heap of papers in vain.
'What? asked Mrs. Rossall, with an air of interest. 'That if I were to close my eyes and keep quiet I should very soon be fast asleep. The other laughed at the unexpected reply. 'Then why not do so, dear? It's warm enough; you couldn't take any harm. 'I suppose the walk has tired me. 'But if you had no sleep last night? How is it you can't sleep, I wonder?
Her mother, prior to going to the Isle of Wight, had decided to accept an invitation to a house in the midland counties which Beatrice did not greatly care to visit; so the latter had used the opportunity to respond to a summons from her friends in the north, whom she had not seen for four years. Beatrice replied to a letter from Mrs. Rossall which had been forwarded to her. After breakfast, Mrs.
Rossall, herself a little too impetuous when triumph was no longer doubtful, made such pointed remarks on the neglect of good advice that the ire which was cooling shot forth flame in another direction. Brother and sister arrived at Geneva in something less than perfect amity.
I can't recall her by her name, but her face, oh, I remember it as clearly as possible. 'What a memory you have, Beatrice! said Mrs. Rossall. 'I never forget a face that strikes me. 'In what way did Miss Hood's face strike you? Wilfrid asked, as if in idle curiosity, and with some of the banter which always marked his tone to Beatrice.
We spoke of her shyness, I remember; she scarcely said a word all the time. 'Yes, she is very shy, assented Mrs. Rossall. 'That's a mistake, I think, aunt, said Wilfrid; 'shyness is quite a different thing from reticence. 'Reticent, then, conceded the lady, with a smile to Beatrice. 'At all events, she is very quiet and agreeable and well-bred.
Athel stepped in straight from the lawn, fresh after his ten minutes' walk about the garden. Wilfrid Athel appeared at the same moment; he was dark-complexioned and had black, glossy hair; his cheeks were hollower than they should have been, but he had not the aspect of an invalid. Mrs. Rossall glided into the room behind him, fresh, fair, undemonstrative.
The word could scarcely be applied to a woman's conduct, and the fact that it could not made disagreeably evident the latitude conceded to women in consideration of their being compelled to carry on warfare in underhand ways. Suppose an anonymous letter. Would not Mrs. Rossall regard that as a perfectly legitimate stratagem, if she had set her mind on resisting this marriage?
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