(She fumbled for a pink linen handkerchief, wiped her eyes and then blew her nose)
“And when I told him I’d cried over him, it almost killed him, but—he liked it,” she ended.
I knew he would have liked it, because men all do thoroughly enjoy hearing about women who cry because they love them (the men) which seems funny when you consider that, if the same men see them cry, they almost have a fit and are far from comfortable. But, as I read in some book, Life is one vast riddle.
“I’m very happy,” said Leslie, as she stood up. And I said I was very glad and that I hoped she would keep on being so even after she was married and settled down. And she said she expected to, and then she said, in a quick, remembering way, “Oh—” and brought out an unstamped note that was addressed to me by Miss Sheila.
“Ben brought this,” she said, “I think from New York; anyway he saw Aunt Sheila somewhere—” and then she left, and I, alone, read the note, which held surprising and nice news for me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A WALK ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON
Miss Sheila was at the Convent of San Girolamo, which is a hospital that is managed by nuns, at Fiesole. And she had written me about her plan to go there before the ship landed.
“I was very stupid and caught a little cold,”
(I saw in her pretty hand. Later I found out that she had come as close to pneumonia as any one can!)
“and the ship’s doctor thinks I should rest a little while. So I am going to San Girolamo where I spent a few happy weeks when I was a girl and half ailing, and you, dear child, must come to see me there. I am going to ask you not to tell Leslie I am here just now. I am very much ashamed to confess it, but the idea of much chatter appals me. Ben—who I imagine may see her!—has promised to keep quiet until I am myself, and ready to join in all the fun. And then—some parties!