"It was as though the old lady felt that she had been deputed
to support the honour of the family during her husband's absence. She
must have been wild with anxiety, but she showed no sign except that her
hand trembled when she raised her glass."
"What did you talk about?" I asked him.
"Oh, about anything! Theatres and her home, when she was a girl and
England.... Awful, every minute of it!"
There was a moment towards the end of the meal, when the good lady
nearly broke down. The bell in the hall rang and there was a step; she
thought it was her husband and half rose. It was, however, the Dvornik
with a message of no importance. She gave a little sigh. "Oh, I do wish
he would come!... I do wish he would come!" she murmured to herself.
"Oh, he'll come," Lawrence reassured her, but she seemed indignant with
him for having overheard her. Afterwards, sitting together desolately in
the magnificent drawing-room, she became affectionately maternal. I have
always wondered why Lawrence confided to me the details of their very
intimate conversation. It was exactly the kind of thing he was most
reticent about.
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