“You are officious and impertinent,” said I, white with ire. “I don’t wish for your society, and I will say good-evening to you.”
With that I turned down a side street leading into the Alléestrasse, and left her.
CHAPTER XIV.
“So!
Another chapter read; with doubtful hand
I turn the page, with doubtful eye I scan
The heading of the next.”
From that evening Anna let me alone, as I thought, and I was glad of it, nor did I attempt any reconciliation, for the very good reason that I wished for none.
Soon after our dispute I found upon my plate at breakfast, one morning, a letter directed in a bold though unformed hand, which I recognized as Stella’s:
“Dear May,—I dare say Adelaide will be writing to you, but I will take time by the forelock, so to speak, and give you my views on the subject first.
“There is news, strange to say that there is some news to tell you. I shall give it without making any remarks. I shall not say whether I think it good, bad, or indifferent. Adelaide is engaged to Sir Peter Le Marchant. It was only made known two days ago. Adelaide thinks he is in love with her. What a strange mistake for her to make! She thinks she can do anything with him. Also a monstrous misapprehension on her part. Seriously, May, I am rather uncomfortable about it, or should be, if it were any one else but Adelaide. But she knows so remarkably well what she is about, that perhaps, after all, my fears are needless. And yet—but it is no use speculating about it—I said I wouldn’t.