I said never a word to her about the Aspern documents; asked no
questions as to what she had ascertained or what had otherwise
happened with regard to them before Miss Bordereau's death.
It was not that I was not on pins and needles to know, but that I
thought it more decent not to betray my anxiety so soon after
the catastrophe. I hoped she herself would say something, but she
never glanced that way, and I thought this natural at the time.
Later however, that night, it occurred to me that her silence
was somewhat strange; for if she had talked of my movements,
of anything so detached as the Giorgione at Castelfranco, she might
have alluded to what she could easily remember was in my mind.
It was not to be supposed that the emotion produced by her aunt's
death had blotted out the recollection that I was interested
in that lady's relics, and I fidgeted afterward as it came
to me that her reticence might very possibly mean simply
that nothing had been found. We separated in the garden
(it was she who said she must go in); now that she was alone
in the rooms I felt that (judged, at any rate, by Venetian ideas)
I was on rather a different footing in regard to visiting her there.
As I shook hands with her for goodnight I asked her if she
had any general plan--had thought over what she had better do.
"Oh, yes, oh, yes, but I haven't settled anything yet,"
she replied quite cheerfully. Was her cheerfulness explained
by the impression that I would settle for her?
I was glad the next morning that we had neglected practical questions,
for this gave me a pretext for seeing her again immediately.
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