“Sit still—I must get that boot off. I thought it was a shot I heard.”
XVIII
How I repented of it afterward—that business with the gun. It was a mad thing to do. It was not worth while any way, and it served no purpose, only kept me tied down to the hut for weeks. I remember distinctly even now all the discomfort and annoyance it caused; my washerwoman had to come every day and stay there nearly all the time, making purchases of food, looking after my housekeeping, for several weeks. Well, and then...
One day the Doctor began talking about Edwarda. I heard her name, heard what she had said and done, and it was no longer of any great importance to me; it was as if he spoke of some distant, irrelevant thing. So quickly one can forget, I thought to myself, and wondered at it.
“Well, and what do you think of Edwarda yourself, since you ask? I have not thought of her for weeks, to tell the truth. Wait a bit—it seems to me there must have been something between you and her, you were so often together. You acted host one day at a picnic on the island, and she was hostess. Don't deny it, Doctor, there was something—a sort of understanding. No, for Heaven's sake don't answer me. You owe me no explanation, I am not asking to be told anything at all—let us talk of something else if you like. How long before I can get about again?”
I sat there thinking of what I had said. Why was I inwardly afraid lest the Doctor should speak out? What was Edwarda to me? I had forgotten her.
And later the talk turned on her again, and I interrupted him once more—God knows what it was I dreaded to hear.
“What do you break off like that for?” he asked. “Is it that you can't bear to hear me speak her name?”