"I shall say goodbye, Miss Hampden, I hope you will take every care,
of yourselves, and that we shall find you well on our return."
"Thank you," I answered, very politely, "there will be no fear of me.
Good bye."
He took the tips of my three longest fingers, my thumb and little
finger not having been ordained by nature to meet the cordial grasp of
men of this stamp, and having repeated his good-bye, he stalked out of
the room in conscious dignity and grandeur.
I made a mocking face, I know I did, when his back was turned. I hated
him for not taking more notice of me than this. I did not want any
violent attentions or silly love-making from him. He need not think I
was a frivolous heart-hunter, for I was not. If I had been a man, he
would have discussed politics or science or newspaper topics with me
long before this. How did he know I could not match him in these being
a woman? He was one of those wonderful erudites, I supposed, who think
that a girl's conversational power lies rigidly between dry goods and
sentiment. Poor things! What a heresy they foster? But what need I
care? He was a glum, unsociable recluse anyway, may be at a loss for a
second idea to keep his mind busy. He was certainly not worth worrying
about, so I gathered up my needle-work that rested on the window-sill,
and with a deliberate sullenness went in search of Hortense.
She had fallen asleep on the lounge in her bedroom, and the old nurse,
having closed the shutters and drawn the curtains to keep out the
afternoon light, was seated in the adjoining room, busily knitting a
stocking.
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