“I daresay not. I only know that I am afraid.”
The pony chaise took her away. Alban’s class was not yet ready for him. He waited on the terrace.
Innocent alike of all knowledge of the serious reason for fear which did really exist, Mrs. Ellmother and Alban felt, nevertheless, the same vague distrust of an intimacy between the two girls. Idle, vain, malicious, false—to know that Francine’s character presented these faults, without any discoverable merits to set against them, was surely enough to justify a gloomy view of the prospect, if she succeeded in winning the position of Emily’s friend. Alban reasoned it out logically in this way—without satisfying himself, and without accounting for the remembrance that haunted him of Mrs. Ellmother’s farewell look. “A commonplace man would say we are both in a morbid state of mind,” he thought; “and sometimes commonplace men turn out to be right.”
He was too deeply preoccupied to notice that he had advanced perilously near Francine’s window. She suddenly stepped out of her room, and spoke to him.
“Do you happen to know, Mr. Morris, why Mrs. Ellmother has gone away without bidding me good-by?”
“She was probably afraid, Miss de Sor, that you might make her the victim of another joke.”
Francine eyed him steadily. “Have you any particular reason for speaking to me in that way?”
“I am not aware that I have answered you rudely—if that is what you mean.”
“That is not what I mean. You seem to have taken a dislike to me. I should be glad to know why.”
“I dislike cruelty—and you have behaved cruelly to Mrs. Ellmother.”