And the speaker nodded again, still more significantly, towards her nephew.
'No, not all,' said Mrs. Burgoyne, laughing. 'I remember he telegraphed.'
'Yes. He wouldn't even wait for me to write. No—"Of course we must have the girl!" he said. "She can join us at the villa. And they'll want to know, so I'll wire." And out he went. And then that evening I had to write and ask her to stay as long as she wished—and—well, there it is!'
'And hence these tears,' said Mrs. Burgoyne. 'What possessed him?'
'Well, I think it was conscience,' said the little spinster, plucking up spirit. 'I know it was with me. There had been some Americans calling on us that day—you remember—those charming Harvard people? And somehow it recalled to us both what a fuss they had made with us—and how kind everybody was. At least I suppose that was how Edward felt. I know I did.'
Manisty paused in his walk. For the first time his dark whimsical face was crossed by an unwilling smile—slight but agreeable.
'It is the old story,' he said. 'Life would be tolerable but for one's virtues. All this time, I beg to point out, Aunt Pattie, that you have still told us nothing about the young lady—except something about her clothes, which doesn't matter.'
Mrs. Burgoyne's amused gesture showed the woman's view of this remark. Miss
Manisty looked puzzled.
'Well—I don't know. Yes—I have told you a great deal. The Lewinsons apparently thought her rather strange. Adèle said she couldn't tell what to be at with her—you never knew what she would like or dislike. Tom Lewinson seems to have liked her better than Adèle did. He said "there was no nonsense about her—and she never kept a fellow waiting." Adèle says she is the oddest mixture of knowledge and ignorance. She would ask the most absurd elementary questions—and then one morning Tom found out that she was quite a Latin scholar, and had read Horace and Virgil, and all the rest.'
'Good God!' said Manisty under his breath, resuming his walk.