I searched back in my memory for a conversation that I had held with her a week since on her future plans.Toward the middle of November, her aunt, Lady Westwick, had arranged to go to her house in Paris, and Jessie was, of course, to accompany her--to accompany her into that very circle of the best English and the best French society which contained in it the elements most adverse to George's hopes.Between this time and that she had no special engagement, and she had only settled to write and warn her aunt of her return to London a day or two before she left The Glen Tower.
Under these circumstances, the first, the all-important necessity was to prevail on her to prolong her stay beyond the allotted six weeks by ten days.After the caution to be silent impressed on me (and most naturally, poor boy) in George's letter, I felt that Icould only appeal to her on the ordinary ground of hospitality.
Would this be sufficient to effect the object?
I was sure that the hours of the morning and the afternoon had, thus far, been fully and happily occupied by her various amusements indoors and out.She was no more weary of her days now than she had been when she first came among us.But I was by no means so certain that she was not tired of her evenings.I had latterly noticed symptoms of weariness after the lamps were lit, and a suspicious regularity in retiring to bed the moment the clock struck ten.If I could provide her with a new amusement for the long evenings, I might leave the days to take care of themselves, and might then make sure (seeing that she had no special engagement in London until the middle of November) of her being sincerely thankful and ready to prolong her stay.
How was this to be done? The piano and the novels had both failed to attract her.What other amusement was there to offer?
It was useless, at present, to ask myself such questions as these.I was too much agitated to think collectedly on the most trifling subjects.I was even too restless to stay in my own room.My son's letter had given me so fresh an interest in Jessie that I was now as impatient to see her as if we were about to meet for the first time.I wanted to look at her with my new eyes, to listen to her with my new ears, to study her secretly with my new purposes, and my new hopes and fears.To my dismay (for I wanted the very weather itself to favor George's interests), it was raining heavily that morning.I knew, therefore, that I should probably find her in her own sitting-room.When I knocked at her door, with George's letter crumpled up in my hand, with George's hopes in full possession of my heart, it is no exaggeration to say that my nerves were almost as much fluttered, and my ideas almost as much confused, as they were on a certain memorable day in the far past, when I rose, in brand-new wig and gown, to set my future prospects at the bar on the hazard of my first speech.
When I entered the room I found Jessie leaning back languidly in her largest arm-chair, watching the raindrops dripping down the window-pane.The unfortunate box of novels was open by her side, and the books were lying, for the most part, strewed about on the ground at her feet.One volume lay open, back upward, on her lap, and her hands were crossed over it listlessly.To my great dismay, she was yawning--palpably and widely yawning--when I came in.
No sooner did I find myself in her presence than an irresistible anxiety to make some secret discovery of the real state of her feelings toward George took possession of me.After the customary condolences on the imprisonment to which she was subjected by the weather, I said, in as careless a manner as it was possible to assume:
"I have heard from my son this morning.He talks of being ordered home, and tells me I may expect to see him before the end of the year."I was too cautious to mention the exact date of his return, for in that case she might have detected my motive for asking her to prolong her visit.
"Oh, indeed?" she said."How very nice.How glad you must be."I watched her narrowly.The clear, dark blue eyes met mine as openly as ever.The smooth, round cheeks kept their fresh color quite unchanged.The full, good-humored, smiling lips never trembled or altered their expression in the slightest degree.Her light checked silk dress, with its pretty trimming of cherry-colored ribbon, lay quite still over the bosom beneath it.
For all the information I could get from her look and manner, we might as well have been a hundred miles apart from each other.Is the best woman in the world little better than a fathomless abyss of duplicity on certain occasions, and where certain feelings of her own are concerned? I would rather not think that; and yet Idon't know how to account otherwise for the masterly manner in which Miss Jessie contrived to baffle me.
I was afraid--literally afraid--to broach the subject of prolonging her sojourn with us on a rainy day, so I changed the topic, in despair, to the novels that were scattered about her.
"Can you find nothing there," I asked, "to amuse you this wet morning?""There are two or three good novels," she said, carelessly, "but I read them before I left London.""And the others won't even do for a dull day in the country?" Iwent on.
"They might do for some people," she answered, "but not for me.
