�But she does,� said Mrs. Vervain.
Thursdale stood perplexed. He had seen, on the previous day, no trace of jealousy or resentment in his betrothed: he could still hear the candid ring of the girl�s praise of Mrs. Vervain. If she were such an abyss of insincerity as to dissemble distrust under such frankness, she must at least be more subtle than to bring her doubts to her rival for solution. The situation seemed one through which one could no longer move in a penumbra, and he let in a burst of light with the direct query: �Won�t you explain what you mean?�
Mrs. Vervain sat silent, not provokingly, as though to prolong his distress, but as if, in the attenuated phraseology he had taught her, it was difficult to find words robust enough to meet his challenge. It was the first time he had ever asked her to explain anything; and she had lived so long in dread of offering elucidations which were not wanted, that she seemed unable to produce one on the spot.
At last she said slowly: �She came to find out if you were really free.�
Thursdale colored again. �Free?� he stammered, with a sense of physical disgust at contact with such crassness.
�Yes—if I had quite done with you.� She smiled in recovered security. �It seems she likes clear outlines; she has a passion for definitions.�
�Yes—well?� he said, wincing at the echo of his own subtlety.
�Well—and when I told her that you had never belonged to me, she wanted me to define my status—to know exactly where I had stood all along.�
Thursdale sat gazing at her intently; his hand was not yet on the clue. �And even when you had told her that—�
�Even when I had told her that I had had no status—that I had never stood anywhere, in any sense she meant,� said Mrs. Vervain, slowly—�even then she wasn�t satisfied, it seems.�