Fulvia did not finish her sentence.
"Yes. You know something of him?"
"Not much. Ethel talked about him to us. I believe he has made plenty of money out there. Perhaps he has come home for a wife."
"A wife would not be hard to find; if he is not particular as to the description," Nigel said, with a short laugh.
"He need not look far," Fulvia spoke, with more meaning in her tone than she was aware.
"Do you think there is anything between him and Ethel?"
Was this indifference—or was it—? Fulvia did not frame the question. She gave one swift glance at his face, noting its gravity. Like a flash came the thought of her midnight resolution to "smooth the way" for him and Ethel; to put self aside, and only to be happy in the knowledge that others were so.
But with this recollection came also a sharp temptation. Why was she to do anything of the kind? Why need she act? Why not let things take their course? How could she tell whether Nigel did really care for Ethel? In any case, why must she help the thing on? Nay, if she could hinder it by a touch, why not? Hardly all this in words, for there was but a pause of two seconds; but the temptation was powerful, and Fulvia's resolution had been only her own. No panoply of heaven's armour shielded her.
"What should make you suppose so?" she asked in an undertone, matching his.
"I don't suppose. I asked what you thought."