Oh, cried Janet to herself, if they but knew! She thought, like Dolff, of the last scene that had been present to his consciousness before that awakening, and Gussy’s kiss; of how he had stood laughing, holding her hands, not letting her go, making fun of Gussy; and the next thing he was aware of—a dim sick-room, a nurse in a white cap, and Gussy, who kissed him in her joy! It was all Janet could do not to burst out with something contradictory, something that would express all the contrariety of her feelings. It was a good thing to get out of the room, to be out of temptation. She did not remark Julia’s keen inspection of her in the vehemence of the perturbation in her own mind.
“Well,” said Julia as they went upstairs; “it’s a good thing he is better, though I wish Gussy would not be always so silly about him. Aren’t you glad he is better, Janet?”
“Did you think,” said Janet, “that I wished him to be worse?”
“Oh! I don’t know. I used to think you liked Charley Meredith; but I’m almost sure you don’t now.”
“One may not care for a man, and yet one may be glad he is better. I am sick,” cried Janet, unable to control herself, “of hearing his name.”
“Oh, so am I!” cried Julia. “Isn’t it enough to make one ill? And now there will be more of it than ever. We shall all be wanted to rejoice over him. I wish he had gone to his own chambers to be killed, and not here.”
By this time they had reached the school-room, which was their common property, and where no one could interfere with their talk. Julia threw herself into a chair before the fire and pursued her inquiries.
“Did you ever think to yourself,” she said, “Janet, how it was that Charley should have been assaulted like that?”
“Think!” said Janet, faltering. “I don’t know what good thinking would do.”
“That may be,” said Julia, “but one can’t help thinking, though it may do no good. I hate him so much myself that I understand it better than you can, who used to like him. It must have been some one who hated him—even more than me.”