She was not at all anxious to go in; but the pleasure she felt in this talk with Rudolph had grown rather alarming to her reserve. She began to fear that she would spoil it all by one of her far-famed blunders of speech. And so she chose to cut short the enjoyment while it could remain a recollection of unalloyed delight.
Rudolph, on his side, was in no hurry to go in; although he took a step obediently toward the portico.
From a feeling of perversity which she could not have accounted for, Mabin chose to talk about Mrs. Dale as they went slowly toward the house.
“I have been longing to see her ever since my accident,” she said. “But although I have been always hovering about the place, wishing she would come out, to-day is the very first time I have caught sight of her.”
“That is exactly my own experience,” said Rudolph. “She seems to have given up driving about the place, and to have shut herself up in this dreary old house just like a nun.”
“Oh!” said Mabin, feeling quite relieved to hear that he had not, as she had supposed, been in the society of the beautiful widow constantly since the day of the accident.
“Yes,” he went on. “I was passing by only half an hour ago, when I glanced up at the windows, and Mrs. Dale stopped me to ask if I had heard how you were. And then she asked me in, saying she felt lonely. And so should I, so would any one, in that mouldy old house all alone.”
“Poor lady! I am so sorry for her!” said Mabin.
Rudolph looked at her quickly.
“Do you feel like that about her too?” said he earnestly. “All the other people one meets are either jealous of her beauty, or envious of her handsome turnout, or angry with her for not wanting to make their acquaintance.”