‘I found them in the closet here,’ she said, ‘and put them on in a freak. What have I else to do? You are always away!’
‘Always away? Well . . . ’
That evening she had a further talk with the landlady, who might herself have nourished a half-tender regard for the poet, so ready was she to discourse ardently about him.
‘You are interested in Mr. Trewe, I know, ma’am,’ she said; ‘and he has just sent to say that he is going to call to-morrow afternoon to look up some books of his that he wants, if I’ll be in, and he may select them from your room?’
‘O yes!’
‘You could very well meet Mr Trewe then, if you’d like to be in the way!’
She promised with secret delight, and went to bed musing of him.
Next morning her husband observed: ‘I’ve been thinking of what you said, Ell: that I have gone about a good deal and left you without much to amuse you. Perhaps it’s true. To-day, as there’s not much sea, I’ll take you with me on board the yacht.’
For the first time in her experience of such an offer Ella was not glad. But she accepted it for the moment. The time for setting out drew near, and she went to get ready. She stood reflecting. The longing to see the poet she was now distinctly in love with overpowered all other considerations.
‘I don’t want to go,’ she said to herself. ‘I can’t bear to be away! And I won’t go.’