“Let us take short views of life, as Sidney Smith bids us,” she answers, involuntarily moving her shoulders, as if to shake off from them a load which, at the moment, seems to press as heavily as did the bursting wallet of his sins upon good Christian’s bowed back. “I will come as often as I can be spared from home.”
At that they regard one another steadily, each conveying to the other’s consciousness their knowledge of how much more than appears the phrase carries.
“You have naturally a great deal to do just now?”
“Yes.”
It is not true; but what is the use of explaining that the dull change—dull, except in the one awful main fact of her wifehood—causes little alteration in the outward framework of her life? Again the room seems irksomely still. Is it possible that to two pairs of ears even the swish of Miss Prince’s skirts would be welcome? In one respect Lavinia might meet that lady with a clear conscience, since she has undoubtedly obeyed her behest of allowing the wounded man to choose his own topic; but it can hardly be said to have agreed with him, judging by the grey shadows on his face. Yet he will not leave the theme that has brought them there.
“It is to be on the 28th?”
“Yes.”
He has leant back on the pillows, which are propped into a more convalescent slant than on the day when she had first seen him lying flat and bloodless upon them. Yet he has reusurped the privilege granted to those in extremis; and she grows restless under the insistence of his eyes.
“I should like to give you a present.”
“Oh, why should you?”