Embrance could not stay there any longer in mute acquiescence: “But she is so quick,” she remonstrated, “and has a real love”—for painting, she was about to say, but her sense of truth turned the sentence into: “for anything that is beautiful!”
He turned away from the window with a sigh. “As an amateur, it is all very well, but otherwise, I don’t see what is to be done. Poor little Joan! It’s a bad business; how is she looking, Miss Clemon?”
“Prettier than ever, I think.”
“I am glad to hear it. She is a charming companion, and I am very glad that you like her. It is a comfort to know that she has got such a good friend in you.”
Embrance blushed, feeling very uncomfortable, and half inclined to resent his remarks. It was rather late in the day for a complete stranger to interfere in such an old friendship as hers and Joan’s. “However,” she reflected, “I am sure he is very fond of her; I wish she would come in.”
“Perhaps,” continued Horace Meade, “you think that I have no business to say this; but the fact is, that I had expected to find, at least I had not expected to find—that is to say——”
He stopped abruptly, and Embrance could not refrain from laughing: “You had imagined that Joan had set up housekeeping with a strong-minded woman of the most extreme type, who didn’t care what became of her.”
“No, no, indeed!” began Horace, but she would go on.
“Please let me explain to you that I would do anything, anything in the world to make Joan happy. I have been looking forward to your visit; I hoped that between us we could find some way of helping her.”
It occurred to Horace that this would be an advantageous moment to say something complimentary, and get himself out of an awkward predicament, but he did not avail himself of the opportunity. He was a person who believed in his own insight of character, and Miss Clemon (who was so widely different from his preconceived notion of Joan’s learned friend) interested him very much; he was quite sure that she was open and honest as the day. Better be straightforward, too.