But to return to William. Though he seemed plunged in gloom, Marion was radiant. She gaily prepared her trousseau, and took William on long shopping expeditions from which he returned more overcast than ever. Sometimes I wondered if he had really got over his infatuation for Gladys, and if he had merely proposed to Marion out of pique. A strange foreboding came over me that all was not going well.
This was deepened when Marion came to me one day with her eyes red as though she had been weeping.
'Is anything wrong?' I inquired, an instinctive fear gripping at my heart. 'You surely haven't quarrelled with William?'
She shook her head. 'Can you imagine William quarrelling with any one?'
I could not. He is one of those comfortable people with whom you can be perfectly frank and outspoken without fear of giving the slightest offence. If I say to him when he is deep in a learned discussion with Henry, 'Do shut up, William, I can't think when you're talking,' he does not snort, glare at me, breathe hard or show any other signs of inward resentment. He at once relapses into silence—an affable silence, not the strained kind when the offended party takes deep respirations through the nose—and I am allowed to think without interruption. It is one of the reasons why I have never minded Henry having him about the place at any time.
'Then if you and William haven't quarrelled, what is wrong?' I asked of the drooping Marion.
'It's—it's about our wedding, Netta. He wants to know if I'll put it off for another six months.'
I started. 'Why should he wish to do that now, with all arrangements made?'
'I don't know. There isn't the slightest reason for delay. It isn't a case of money, for you know he has a good private income, and I have my own little income as well. Then, we are both old enough to know our own minds—yet he says he thinks we ought to have more time for reflection. What can it mean, Netta?'
I was silent for a moment, not liking to voice my uneasy thoughts.