Talking to oneself is a bad habit, especially when the door is open, whether one be swearing at something or examining one's own conscience. But Miss Wimpole could not help it, and the question of returning the price of the hat to Archie Harmon's mother was such a very difficult one, that she had forgotten to shut the door.
"Most impossible situation!" she repeated aloud. "Most terrible situation! Poor boy! Half idiotic--father mad. Most distressing situation! If I tell his mother, I shall hurt her feelings dreadfully. If I tell Richard, I shall hurt his feelings dreadfully. If I tell nobody, I shall break my promise to Sylvia, besides putting her in the position of accepting a hat from a young man. Ridiculous present, a hat! If it had only been a parasol! Parasols are not so ridiculous as hats. I wonder why! Perfectly impossible to keep the money, of course. Even Judas Iscariot--dear me! Where are my thoughts running to? Shocking! But a terrible situation. It was dear, too--eighty francs! We must get it into Mrs. Harmon's hands somehow--"
"Why must you get eighty francs into Mrs. Harmon's hands?" enquired the colonel, laying his hat upon a chair.
The door had been open, and he had heard her talking while he was in the corridor. She uttered an exclamation as she turned and saw him.
"Oh--well--I suppose you heard me. I must really cure myself of talking when I am alone! But I was not saying anything in particular."
"You were saying that you must manage to pay Mrs. Harmon eighty francs. It is very easy, for she happens to be here and I have just seen her."
"Oh, I know she is here!" cried Miss Wimpole. "I know it to my cost! She and that--and her son, you know."
"Yes, I knew. But what is the matter? What is the trouble?"
"Oh, Richard! You are so sensitive about anything that has to do with Mrs. Harmon!"
"I?" The colonel looked at her quietly.