"I don't understand."
"No, and oh, my poor boy, I've got to make you!" She said this quietly, almost prayerfully, with the air of a person laboring under a weighty mission. James had no reply to offer and walked off feeling curiously uncomfortable. There was a long silence.
"Come over here and sit down, James; I want to talk to you," said Aunt Selina at last. She spoke in her natural tone of voice; there was no more of the priestess about her. There was that about her, however, that made him obey.
"James, I've got to tell you a few things about Beatrice. Some things I don't believe you know. Do you mind?"
"No," said James slowly, "I don't know that I do."
"Well, in the first place, I suppose you thought she was in love with that Englishman?"
James nodded.
"Well, she wasn't—not one particle. Whatever else may or may not be true, that is. She despised him."
James froze, paused as though deciding whether or not to discuss the matter and then said gently: "I have my own ideas about that, Aunt Selina."
She nodded briefly, almost briskly. It was the most effective reply she could have made. The more businesslike the words the greater the impression on James, always, in any matter. Aunt Selina understood perfectly. She let her effect sink in and waited calmly for him to demand proof. This he did at last, going to the very heart of the subject.