"Garth couldn't satisfy a girl like Gwenda."
Rowcliffe said no, he supposed it couldn't satisfy her. His dejection
was by this time terrible. It cast a visible, a palpable gloom.
"She's a restless creature," said Mary, smiling.
She threw it out as if by way of lightening his oppression, almost as
if she put it to him that if Gwenda was restless (by which Rowcliffe
might understand, if he liked, capricious) she couldn't help it. There
was no reason why he should be so horribly hurt. It was not as if
there was anything personal in Gwenda's changing attitudes. And
Rowcliffe did indeed say to himself, Restless--restless. Yes. That was
the word for her; and he supposed she couldn't help it.
* * * * *
The study door opened and shut. Mary's eyes made a sign to him that
said, "We can't talk about this before my father. He won't like it."
But Mr. Cartaret had gone upstairs. They could hear him moving in the
room overhead.
"How is your other sister getting on?" said Rowcliffe abruptly.
"Alice? She's all right. You wouldn't know her. She can walk for
miles."
"You don't say so?"
He was really astonished.
"She's off now somewhere, goodness knows where."
"Ha!" Rowcliffe laughed softly.
"It's really wonderful," said Mary. "She's generally so tired in the
spring."
It _was_ wonderful. The more he thought of it the more wonderful it
was.
"Oh, well----" he said, "she mustn't overdo it.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218