Hilary had turned away.
Cecilia touched his arm. "Hilary, dear," she said, "isn't there any
chance of you and B---"
Hilary's lips twitched. "I should say not."
Cecilia looked sadly at the floor. Not since Stephen was bad with
pleurisy had she felt so worried. The sight of Hilary's face brought
back her doubts with all their force. It might, of course, be only anger
at the man's impudence, but it might be--she hardly liked to frame her
thought--a more personal feeling.
"Don't you think," she said, "that, anyway, she had better not come here
again?"
Hilary paced the room.
"It's her only safe and certain piece of work; it keeps her independent.
It's much more satisfactory than this sitting. I can't have any hand in
taking it away from her."
Cecilia had never seen him moved like this. Was it possible that he was
not incorrigibly gentle, but had in him some of that animality which
she, in a sense, admired? This uncertainty terribly increased the
difficulties of the situation.
"But, Hilary," she said at last, "are you satisfied about the girl--I
mean, are you satisfied that she really is worth helping?"
"I don't understand."
"I mean," murmured Cecilia, "that we don't know anything about her
past." And, seeing from the movement of his eyebrows that she was
touching on what had evidently been a doubt with him, she went on with
great courage: "Where are her friends and relations? I mean, she may
have had a--adventures.
Pages:
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102