She expected the name. Perhaps she wished for it, though she never would have spoken it herself. She had yet to learn to do that.
“Yes,” said Deulin, after a pause, pursuing, it would appear, his own thoughts, “the world would get on very well without its talkers. No great man has ever been a great talker. Have you noticed that in history?”
Wanda made no answer. She was still waiting for the news that he had to tell her. The logs on the fire fell about with a crackle, and Deulin rose to put them in order. While thus engaged he continued his monologue.
“I suppose that is why I feel lonely this afternoon. In a sense, I am alone. Cartoner has gone, you know. He has left Warsaw.”
Deulin glanced at the mirror over the mantel-piece, and if he had had any doubts they were now laid aside, for there was only gladness in Wanda's face. It was good news, then. And Deulin was clever enough to know the meaning of that.
“Gone!” she said. “I am very glad.”
“Yes,” answered Deulin, gravely, as he returned to his chair. “It is a good thing. I left him this morning, placidly preparing to depart at half an hour's warning. He was packing, with that repose of manner which you have perhaps noticed. Better than Vespers, better than absolution, is Cartoner's repose of manner—for me, bien entendu. But, then, I am not a devout man.”
“Then you have done what I asked you to do,” said Wanda, “some time ago, and I am very grateful.”
“Some time ago? It was only yesterday.”
“Was it? It seems more than that,” said Wanda. And Deulin nodded his head slowly.