Пробний камінь
XIII
“Isthatwhatyouimply?”hepressedher.
“No,”sheansweredwithsuddendirectness.“Inoticedsometimeagothatyouseemedtodislikehim,butsincethen—”
“Well—sincethen?”
“I’veimaginedthatyouhadreasonsforstillwishingmetobeciviltohim,asyoucallit.”
“Ah,”saidGlennard,withaneffortatlightness;buthisironydropped,forsomethinginhervoicemadehimfeelthatheandshestoodatlastinthatnakeddesertofapprehensionwheremeaningskulksvainlybehindspeech.
“Andwhydidyouimaginethis?”Thebloodmountedtohisforehead.“BecausehetoldyouthatIwasunderobligationstohim?”
Sheturnedpale.“Underobligations?”
“Oh,don’tlet’sbeataboutthebush.Didn’thetellyouitwasIwhopublishedMrs.Aubyn’sletters?Answermethat.”
“No,”shesaid;andafteramomentwhichseemedgiventotheweighingofalternatives,sheadded:“Noonetoldme.”
“Youdidn’tknowthen?”
Sheseemedtospeakwithaneffort.“Notuntil—notuntil—”
“TillIgaveyouthosepaperstosort?”
Herheadsank.
“Youunderstoodthen?”
“Yes.”
Helookedatherimmovableface.“Hadyoususpected—before?”wasslowlywrungfromhim.
“Attimes—yes—”Hervoicedroppedtoawhisper.
“Why?Fromanythingthatwassaid—?”
Therewasashadeofpityinherglance.“Noonesaidanything—noonetoldmeanything.”Shelookedawayfromhim.“Itwasyourmanner—”
“Mymanner?”
“Wheneverthebookwasmentioned.
