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But I believe I am now, and I want to say it." "I'm glad you can see it in that way," said Westover, "and since you do, I don't mind saying that I think Mrs. Vostrand might have been a little franker with you without being less kind. She was kind, but she wasn't quite frank." "Well, it's all over now," said Jeff, and he rose up and brushed the whittlings from his knees.
You don't know where Mrs. Vostrand is going to be this winter, I suppose?" "No, I don't," said Westover. He could not help a sort of blind resentment in the situation. If he could not feel that Jeff was the best that could be for Cynthia, he had certainly no reason to regret that his thoughts could be so lightly turned from her.
James W. Vostrand, and it was Miss Vostrand, whom Westover had know ten years before in Italy. Mrs. Vostrand had then lately come abroad for the education of her children, and was pausing in doubt at Florence whether she should educate them in Germany or Switzerland.
He cleared his throat before he asked: "Has Mr. Westover been saying anything about me?" "I don't know what you mean, exactly; but I presume you do." "Well, then I always expected to tell you I did have a fancy for that girl, for Miss Vostrand, and I told her so. It's like something that never happened. She wouldn't have me. That's all." "And you expect me to take what she wouldn't have?"
Vostrand to these, but the others might be more difficult; they might have their anxieties, and Westover meant to ask the leader of the class to help him receive at the studio tea he had at once imagined for the Vostrands, and that would make her doubly responsible.
Her husband had apparently abandoned this question to her, and he did not contribute his presence to her moral support during her struggle with a problem which Westover remembered as having a tendency to solution in the direction of a permanent stay in Florence. In those days he liked Mrs. Vostrand very much, and at twenty he considered her at thirty distinctly middle-aged.
"What's crazy in wanting to go off on a drive and choose your own party?" "Do you know them?" Mrs. Durgin repeated to Westover. "The Vostrands? Why, yes. I knew Mrs. Vostrand in Italy a good many years ago, and I've just been calling on her and her daughter, who was a little girl then." "What kind of folks are they?" "What kind? Really! Why, they're very charming people " "So Jeff seems to think.
It was only their backs that Westover could see, and he could not, of course, make out a syllable of what was effectively their silence; but all the same he began to feel as if he were peeping and eavesdropping. Mrs. Vostrand seemed not to share his feeling, and there was no reason why he should have it if she had not.
He cleared his throat before he asked: "Has Mr. Westover been saying anything about me?" "I don't know what you mean, exactly; but I presume you do." "Well, then I always expected to tell you I did have a fancy for that girl, for Miss Vostrand, and I told her so. It's like something that never happened. She wouldn't have me. That's all." "And you expect me to take what she wouldn't have?"
Before noon the next day a district messenger brought Westover a letter which he easily knew, from, the now belated tall, angular hand, to be from Mrs. Vostrand. It announced on a much criss-crossed little sheet that she and Genevieve were inconsolably taking a very sudden departure, and were going on the twelve-o'clock train to New York, where Mr. Vostrand was to meet them.
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