“It’s the last thing I should have thought could happen.”
“You didn’t suppose they were romantic enough,” I suggested dryly.
She let it pass and with great decision but as if speaking to herself,
“Roderick really must be warned.”
She didn’t give me the time to ask of what precisely. She raised her head and addressed me.
“I am surprised and grieved more than I can tell you at Mr. Fyne’s resistance. We have been always completely at one on every question. And that we should differ now on a point touching my brother so closely is a most painful surprise to me.” Her hand rattled the teaspoon brusquely by an involuntary movement. “It is intolerable,” she added tempestuously—for Mrs. Fyne that is. I suppose she had nerves of her own like any other woman.
Under the porch where Fyne had sought refuge with the dog there was silence. I took it for a proof of deep sagacity. I don’t mean on the part of the dog. He was a confirmed fool.
I said:
“You want absolutely to interfere . . . ?” Mrs. Fyne nodded just perceptibly . . . “Well—for my part . . . but I don’t really know how matters stand at the present time. You have had a letter from Miss de Barral. What does that letter say?”
“She asks for her valise to be sent to her town address,” Mrs. Fyne uttered reluctantly and stopped. I waited a bit—then exploded.