see that you could have done anything else but bring the girl back here with you. ”
Celia said nothing, and he was not sure that she agreed with this view.
“ Where is she now? And what happens next? ” enquired Bertram.
“ She ’ s asleep in my sitting-room. ” Lady Ranmere took the explanations on herself, before her nephew could. “ By and by, if she feels like seeing anyone else, we will bring her downstairs for dinner. Otherwise, she can have something quietly in her room. I ’ ve arranged for her to have the room next to mine, so that she won ’ t feel lonely. ”
David gave his aunt an affectionate smile and whispered, “ Thanks. You think of everything. ”
“ And is she staying indefinitely? ” enquired Celia. Not argumentatively, but as though the information interested her.
“ Until after the funeral anyway, ” David said. “ And after that we ’ ll have to see. ” He was not quite sure himself what he meant by that. But fortunately, before anyone could ask him to be more explicit, Mrs. Preston, who was sitting beside him, addressed him in a low, urgent voice.
“ You weren ’ t able to—to find out anything more about her, I suppose? ” she said, nervously playing with the fob brooch in which she wore her son ’ s photograph.
“ I ’ m sorry—no. ” David knew from that nervous movement where her thoughts were. And, however illogical her ideas might be, he could not help looking with closer attention than ever before at the thin-faced, handsome man who smiled from the little photograph.
“ Anya ’ s so-called father died without my speaking to him again, you know, ” he explained. “ But if there is any way of finding out anything more, I certainly shall do so, if only for my own satisfaction. ”
She murmured, “ Thank you, ” and suddenly stopped playing with the brooch, as though guiltily realizing what she had been doing. Then he noticed that Celia was glancing in their direction, and though she smiled at her mother, she also shook her head.
For a short while David made himself enter into the general conversation around him. But presently he got up and said in an undertone to his aunt.
“ I ’ m going upstairs, to see she is all right. She may be frightened if she wakes and finds herself alone in a strange place. ”
And without waiting for any objection to that, he went out of the lounge, collected his parcel from the desk, and went quickly upstairs to his aunt ’ s sitting-room.
He had already conjured up such an anxious picture of her, frightened and alone, that he was relieved to find Anya sleeping quietly on the sofa, as his aunt had described. Her long dark lashes lay tranquilly on her pale cheeks, and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing was unhurried and peaceful.
For quite a few minutes he watched her, fascinated to find that, freed from her cares in sleep, she did not look so different from other girls of her age. No longer was she unbearably pathetic. And, for the first time, he found himself thinking.
“ She isn ’ t essentially a melancholy creature. She could be gay and happy. I believe she co u ld even laugh quite easily. ” And suddenly he was overwhelmed by the desire to see her gay and happy.
Without knowing quite why, he unwrapped his gift and spread it out on a chair near the sofa, so that it was within easy reach of her hand. The light from the window caught it and drew a dozen scintillating shades from its shimmering depths, and he thought, with satisfaction, that it would be something nice for her glance to light upon when she opened her eyes.
He would have liked to be there when that happened, but already he had lingered long enough, he supposed. And then, just as he turned to go, she stirred slightly, and so he drew to one side out of her range of vision and watched.
For a few moments after she opened her eyes, she lay there—wondering, perhaps, where she was. Then her attention was caught, and with a soft exclamation of
Celia said nothing, and he was not sure that she agreed with this view.
“ Where is she now? And what happens next? ” enquired Bertram.
“ She ’ s asleep in my sitting-room. ” Lady Ranmere took the explanations on herself, before her nephew could. “ By and by, if she feels like seeing anyone else, we will bring her downstairs for dinner. Otherwise, she can have something quietly in her room. I ’ ve arranged for her to have the room next to mine, so that she won ’ t feel lonely. ”
David gave his aunt an affectionate smile and whispered, “ Thanks. You think of everything. ”
“ And is she staying indefinitely? ” enquired Celia. Not argumentatively, but as though the information interested her.
“ Until after the funeral anyway, ” David said. “ And after that we ’ ll have to see. ” He was not quite sure himself what he meant by that. But fortunately, before anyone could ask him to be more explicit, Mrs. Preston, who was sitting beside him, addressed him in a low, urgent voice.
“ You weren ’ t able to—to find out anything more about her, I suppose? ” she said, nervously playing with the fob brooch in which she wore her son ’ s photograph.
“ I ’ m sorry—no. ” David knew from that nervous movement where her thoughts were. And, however illogical her ideas might be, he could not help looking with closer attention than ever before at the thin-faced, handsome man who smiled from the little photograph.
“ Anya ’ s so-called father died without my speaking to him again, you know, ” he explained. “ But if there is any way of finding out anything more, I certainly shall do so, if only for my own satisfaction. ”
She murmured, “ Thank you, ” and suddenly stopped playing with the brooch, as though guiltily realizing what she had been doing. Then he noticed that Celia was glancing in their direction, and though she smiled at her mother, she also shook her head.
For a short while David made himself enter into the general conversation around him. But presently he got up and said in an undertone to his aunt.
“ I ’ m going upstairs, to see she is all right. She may be frightened if she wakes and finds herself alone in a strange place. ”
And without waiting for any objection to that, he went out of the lounge, collected his parcel from the desk, and went quickly upstairs to his aunt ’ s sitting-room.
He had already conjured up such an anxious picture of her, frightened and alone, that he was relieved to find Anya sleeping quietly on the sofa, as his aunt had described. Her long dark lashes lay tranquilly on her pale cheeks, and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing was unhurried and peaceful.
For quite a few minutes he watched her, fascinated to find that, freed from her cares in sleep, she did not look so different from other girls of her age. No longer was she unbearably pathetic. And, for the first time, he found himself thinking.
“ She isn ’ t essentially a melancholy creature. She could be gay and happy. I believe she co u ld even laugh quite easily. ” And suddenly he was overwhelmed by the desire to see her gay and happy.
Without knowing quite why, he unwrapped his gift and spread it out on a chair near the sofa, so that it was within easy reach of her hand. The light from the window caught it and drew a dozen scintillating shades from its shimmering depths, and he thought, with satisfaction, that it would be something nice for her glance to light upon when she opened her eyes.
He would have liked to be there when that happened, but already he had lingered long enough, he supposed. And then, just as he turned to go, she stirred slightly, and so he drew to one side out of her range of vision and watched.
For a few moments after she opened her eyes, she lay there—wondering, perhaps, where she was. Then her attention was caught, and with a soft exclamation of
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