“I do not wonder at Pogson’s not caring for such theories,” said Io. “Perhaps your search for animalcula in the candle will result in the grand discovery of some poor moths who have singed off their wings in the flame.”
“We talked of other matters too, not scientific,” said Thud, who was busying himself in picking out threads from the fringe of a handsome cushion. “Pogson told me a great deal about his voyage in the Argus. You would have liked that, for he spoke so much about Oscar.”
“What did he say of my husband?” asked Io, roused to interest.
“Oh! that he was very sociable and very amusing; sang songs and told anecdotes without end, except when he walked up and down the deck, holding grave discourse with a man called Mace. During the latter part of the voyage, however, Oscar was much taken up with reading poetry, and carrying about chairs for, and playing the agreeable to, a handsome widow whom they picked up at Malta.”
“What widow?” asked Io Coldstream.
“One whose husband had died at Malta, and who took the opportunity of returning home in the Argus. Pogson says that she was a former friend of Oscar, a very particular friend, probably before her marriage.Anyways, Mrs. Mortimer—that’s her name—told Pogson that she has a picture in which she and Oscar are taken together, she sitting on a mossy bank, and Oscar offering her a rose.”
“Thud, you talk nonsense!” exclaimed Io indignantly. Her cheek was flushed and burning, but her hands trembled as if with cold.
“I never talk nonsense,” said Thud majestically, “and I have no reason to think that Pogson does so either. The widow’s Christian name is Adelaide, for she said that hers is the same as the Queen’s. She usually addressed Oscar by his Christian name, in quite a familiar way. He used to take great care of her; she was clearly a very particular friend indeed. You had better ask Oscar about her.”
Io felt as if her heart had suddenly become like a stone; but she reproached herself indignantly for giving one moment’s credit to such idle gossip. She would not let Thud see that he had inflicted a pang; but had his thick fingers not been so engaged in spoiling the fringe, had he glanced up for a moment, even Thud would have seen in his sister’s face the annoyance caused by his words.
“I wish that you would leave that cushion alone,” said Io sharply. It was to hide her agitation under the semblance of anger.