“I don’t think that is likely,” I laughed.
After lunch she left us alone to smoke. Young Gascoyne wheeled two armchairs to the window, which was delightfully shaded, and, giving me an excellent cigar, seated himself opposite with a pipe, and began to talk of his love affair. Since he had discovered that I knew of the secret meetings he had been only too anxious to make a confidant of me.
“She absolutely prevents my thinking of anything else. I ought to be working, you know, but I can’t. Every time I settle down to do anything I think of her—she’s in my head and she stops there. The whole day long I wonder what she’s doing. She’s an absolute servant to those great big lubberly brothers of hers. Of course, they are kind to her in a way, but they want her to marry some lout out of the village. I don’t know how it will end, I am sure.”
“Oh, these things have a way of deciding themselves.”
“Yes, but not always satisfactorily.”
“Why, you don’t think——?”
“No, I don’t mean that, at least I hope to goodness not.”
“You had better make up your mind to forget her and come to town.”
“I couldn’t do it. It isn’t in me. It would take a will of iron. If my sister were a man she would do it, but then Edith couldn’t have fallen in love with anybody beneath her.”
This was so obviously true that it required no comment.