sbrainthrobbedsoviolentlythathethoughtsomethinghorriblewouldhappentohim.Heheardtheregular,quickbeating,liketheimplacablehammeringofgnomesuponsomehidden,distantanvil.
"She'sinLondon,"herepeated.
Whenhadtheletterbeenposted?Atleast,hemighthavelookedatthemarkontheenvelope.Wasitayearago?Wasitlately?Theletterdidnotlookasthoughithadbeenlyingabouttheclubformanymonths.HaditnotstilltheodourofthosedreadfulParmaviolets?ShemusthaveseeninthepaperhisreturnfromAfrica,woundedandill.Andwhatdidshesay?Didshemerelywriteafewcoldwordsofcongratulationor—more?
Itwasterriblethatafterthreeyearsthemeresightofherhandwritingshouldhavepowertothrowhimintothisstateofeager,passionateanguish.Hewasseizedwiththeoldpanic,theterrifiedperceptionofhissurrender,ofhisutterweakness,whichmadeflighttheonlypossibleresistance.Thatwaswhyhehaddestroyedtheletterunread.WhenMrs.Wallacewasmanythousandmilesawaytherehadbeennodangerinconfessingthathelovedherbutnowitwasdifferent.Whatdidshesayintheletter?Hadsheinsomefeminine,mysteriousfashiondiscoveredhissecret?Didsheaskhimtogoandseeher?Jamesrememberedoneoftheirconversations.
"Oh,IlovegoingtoLondon!"shehadcried,openingherarmswiththecharming,exoticgesticulationwhichdistinguishedherfromallotherwomen."Ienjoymyselfawfully."
"Whatdoyoudo?"
"Everything.AndIwritetopoorDickthreetimesaweek,andtellhimallIhaven'tdone."
"Ican'tbearthegrass-widow,"saidJames.
"Poorboy,youcan'tbearanythingthat'samusing!Ineverknewanyonewithsuchanidealofwomanasyouhave—agloomymixtureoffrumpishnessandangularity."
Jamesdidnotanswer.
"Don'tyouwishwewereinLondonnow?"shewenton."YouandItogether?IreallybelieveIshouldhavetotakeyouabout.You'reasinnocentasababe."
"D'youthinkso?"saidJames,ratherhurt.
"Now,ifwewereintown,onourown,whatwouldyoudo?"
"Oh,Idon'tknow.Isupposemakealittlepartyanddinesomewhere,andgototheSavoytoseethe'Mikado.'"
Mrs.Wallacelaughed.
"Iknow.Apartyoffour—yourselfandme,andtwomaidenaunt