“Rather. Mooney. Didn’t care for his electioneering—didn’t care for his ordinary nourishment. Loose ends. Didn’t mention it to Adeline, but she began to see it. Asked questions. Next day, went off. London. She asked what was up. Three days’ silence. Then—wrote to her.”
Fred intensified all this by raising his eyebrows, pulling down the corners of his mouth and nodding portentously. “Eh?” he said, and then to make things clearer: “Wrote a letter.”
“He didn’t write to her about Miss Waters?”
“Don’t know what he wrote about. Don’t suppose he mentioned her name, but I dare say he made it clear enough. All I know is that everything in the house felt like elastic pulled tighter than it ought to be for two whole days—everybody in a sort of complicated twist—and then there was a snap. All that time Addy was writing letters to him and tearing ’em up, and no one could quite make it out. Everyone looked blue except the Sea Lady. She kept her own lovely pink. And at the end of that time the mater began asking things, Adeline chucked writing, gave the mater half a hint, mater took it all in in an instant and the thing burst.”
“Miss Glendower didn’t——?”
“No, the mater did. Put it pretty straight too—as the mater can.… She didn’t deny it. Said she couldn’t help herself, and that he was as much hers as Adeline’s. I heard that,” said Fred shamelessly. “Pretty thick, eh?—considering he’s engaged. And the mater gave it her pretty straight. Said, ‘I’ve been very much deceived in you, Miss Waters—very much indeed.’ I heard her.…”
“Asked her to go. Said she’d requited us ill for taking her up when nobody but a fisherman would have looked at her.”
“She said that?”
“Well, words to that effect.”