Fennel and Rue by William Dean Howells
page 77 of 140 (55%)
page 77 of 140 (55%)
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"Have you got a bad conscience?" she asked, letting her eyes rest on his. "Yes. I can't make my conduct square with my ideal of conduct." "I know what that is!" she sighed. "Do you expect to be punished for it?" "I expect to be got even with." "Yes, one is. I've noticed that myself. But I didn't suppose that actors--Oh, I forgot! I beg your pardon again, Mr. Verrian. Oh--Goodnight!" She faced him evanescently in going out, with the woman after her, but, whether she did so more in fear or more in defiance, she left him standing motionless in his doubt, and she did nothing to solve his doubt when she came quickly back alone, before he was aware of having moved, to say, "Mr. Verrian, I want to--I have to--tell you that --I didn't think you were the actor." Then she was finally gone, and Verrian had nothing for it but to go up to his room with the book he found he had in his hand and must have had there all the time. If he had read it, the book would not have eased him off to sleep, but he did not even try, to read it. He had no wish to sleep. The waking dream in which he lost himself was more interesting than any vision of slumber could have been, and he had no desire to end it. In that he could still be talking with the girl whose mystery appealed to him so pleasingly. It was none the less pleasing because, at what might be called her first blushes, she did not strike him as altogether ingenuous, but only able to discipline herself into a final sincerity from a consciousness which had been taught wisdom by experience. |
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