She told me I was a fool to suppose you were happy here."
"How clever of her!" A certain bantering smile accompanied
the words, but on the instant it faded away. She went
on with a musing gravity. "I'm sorry I don't get to know
your sister. She seems an extremely real sort of person.
I can understand that she might be difficult to live with--I
daresay all genuine characters are--but she's very real.
Although, apparently, conversation isn't her strong point,
still I enjoy talking with her."
"How do you mean?" Thorpe asked, knitting his brows
in puzzlement.
"Oh, I often go to her shop--or did when I was in town.
I went almost immediately after our--our return to England.
I was half afraid she would recognize me--the portraits
in the papers, you know--but apparently she didn't. And
it's splendid--the way she says absolutely nothing more
than it's necessary to say. And her candour! If she
thinks books are bad she says so. Fancy that!"
He still frowned uneasily as he looked down at her.
"You never mentioned to me that you had gone there,"
he told her, as if in reproach.
"Ah, it was complicated," Edith explained. "She objects
to knowing me--I think secretly I respect her a great deal
for that--and therefore there is something clandestine
about my getting to know her--and I could not be sure
how it would impress you, and really it seemed simplest
not to mention it.
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