PAGE 8
The Story in It
by
“Because I always feel that that’s my only way of showing anything. It’s absurd, if you like,” Mrs. Blessingbourne pursued, “but I never know, in such intense discussions, what strange impression I may give. ”
Her companion looked amused. “Was it intense?”
“Iwas,” Maud frankly confessed.
“Then it’s a pity you were so wrong. Colonel Voyt, you know, is right. ” Mrs. Blessingbourne at this gave one of the slow, soft, silent headshakes to which she often resorted and which, mostly accompanied by the light of cheer, had somehow, in spite of the small obstinacy that smiled in them, a special grace. With this grace, for a moment, her friend, looking her up and down, appeared impressed, yet not too much so to take, the next minute, a decision. “Oh, my dear, I’m sorry to differ from anyone so lovely—for you’re awfully beautiful to-night, and your frock’s the very nicest I’ve ever seen you wear. But he’s as right as he can be. ”
Maud repeated her motion. “Not so right, at all events, as he thinks he is. Or perhaps I can say,” she went on, after an instant, “that I’m not so wrong. I do know a little what I’m talking about. ”
Mrs. Dyott continued to study her. “You arevexed. You naturally don’t like it—such destruction. ”
“Destruction?”
“Of your illusion. ”
“I haveno illusion. If I had, moreover, it wouldn’t be destroyed. I have, on the whole, I think, my little decency. ”
Mrs. Dyott stared. “Let us grant it for argument. What, then?”
“Well, I’ve also my little drama. ”
“An attachment. ”
“An attachment. ”
“That you shouldn’t have?”
“That I shouldn’t have. ”
“A passion?”
“A passion. ”
“Shared?”
“Ah, thank goodness, no!”
Mrs. Dyott continued to gaze. “The object’s unaware—?”
“Utterly. ”
Mrs. Dyott turned it over. “Are you sure?”
“Sure. ”
“That’s what you c
all your decency? But isn’t it,” Mrs. Dyott asked, “rather his?”
“Dear, no. It’s only his good fortune. ”
Mrs. Dyott laughed. “But yours, darling—your good fortune: where does thatcome in?”
“Why, in my sense of the romance of it. ”
“The romance of what? Of his not knowing?”
“Of my not wanting him to. If I did”—Maud had touchingly worked it out—“where would be my honesty?”
The inquiry, for an instant, held her friend; yet only, it seemed, for a stupefaction that was almost amusement. “Can you want or not want as you like? Where in the world, if you don’t want, is your romance?”
Mrs. Blessingbourne still wore her smile, and she now, with a light gesture that matched it, just touched the region of her heart. “There!”
Her companion admiringly marveled. “A lovely place for it, no doubt!—but not quite a place, that I can see, to make the sentiment a relation. ”
“Why not? What more is required for a relation for me?”
“Oh, all sorts of things, I should say! And many more, added to those, to make it one for the person you mention. ”
“Ah, that I don’t pretend it either should be or canbe. I only speak for myself. ”
It was said in a manner that made Mrs. Dyott, with a visible mixture of impressions, suddenly turn away. She indulged in a vague movement or two, as if to look for something; then again found herself near her friend, on whom with the same abruptness, in fact with a strange sharpness, she conferred a kiss that might have represented either her tribute to exalted consistency or her idea of a graceful close of the discussion. “You deserve that one should speak foryou!”
Her companion looked cheerful and secure. “How canyou, without knowing—?”
“Oh, by guessing! It’s not—?”
But that was as far as Mrs. Dyott could get. “It’s not,” said Maud, “anyone you’ve ever seen. ”