“But why did you turn back—without going to Denver?”
“I wanted to come back. I was restless.”
“Restlessness,” she said, and thought. “You were restless in Venice. You said it was restlessness took you to America.”
Again she studied me. She turned a little awkwardly to her tea things, and poured needless water from the silver kettle into the teapot. Then she sat still for some moments looking at the equipage with expressionless eyes. I saw her hand upon the edge of the table tremble slightly. I watched her closely. A vague uneasiness possessed me. What might she not know or guess?
She spoke at last with an effort. “I wish you were in Parliament again,” she said. “Life doesn't give you events enough.”
“If I was in Parliament again, I should be on the Conservative side.”
“I know,” she said, and was still more thoughtful.
“Lately,” she began, and paused. “Lately I've been reading—you.”
I didn't help her out with what she had to say. I waited.
“I didn't understand what you were after. I had misjudged. I didn't know. I think perhaps I was rather stupid.” Her eyes were suddenly shining with tears. “You didn't give me much chance to understand.”