Philip took her up sharply. “If Eunice likes seeing the river better than waiting in the street,” he said, “isn’t she free to do as she pleases?”
Helena said nothing more; Philip walked on slowly by himself. Not knowing what to make of it, I turned to Miss Jillgall. “Surely Philip can’t have quarreled with Helena?” I said.
Miss Jillgall answered in an odd off-hand manner: “Not he! He is a great deal more likely to have quarreled with himself.”
“Why?”
“Suppose you ask him why?”
It was not to be thought of; it would have looked like prying into his thoughts. “Selina!” I said, “there is something odd about you to-day. What is the matter? I don’t understand you.”
“My poor dear, you will find yourself understanding me before long.” I thought I saw something like pity in her face when she said that.
“My poor dear?” I repeated. “What makes you speak to me in that way?”
“I don’t know—I’m tired; I’m an old fool—I’ll go back to the house.”
Without another word, she left me. I turned to look for Philip, and saw that my sister had joined him while I had been speaking to Miss Jillgall. It pleased me to find that they were talking in a friendly way when I joined them. A quarrel between Helena and my husband that is to be—no, my husband that shall be—would have been too distressing, too unnatural I might almost call it.