And it was precisely by the girl's candor, her directness, her lack
of complications, that he was taken. The sense that she might say
something rash at any moment was positively exhilarating: if she had
thrown her arms about him at the station he would not have given a
thought to his crumpled dignity. It surprised Thursdale to find what
freshness of heart he brought to the adventure; and though his sense
of irony prevented his ascribing his intactness to any conscious
purpose, he could but rejoice in the fact that his sentimental
economies had left him such a large surplus to draw upon.
Mrs. Vervain was at home--as usual. When one visits the cemetery one
expects to find the angel on the tombstone, and it struck Thursdale
as another proof of his friend's good taste that she had been in no
undue haste to change her habits. The whole house appeared to count
on his coming; the footman took his hat and overcoat as naturally as
though there had been no lapse in his visits; and the drawing-room
at once enveloped him in that atmosphere of tacit intelligence which
Mrs. Vervain imparted to her very furniture.
It was a surprise that, in this general harmony of circumstances,
Mrs. Vervain should herself sound the first false note.
"You?" she exclaimed; and the book she held slipped from her hand.
It was crude, certainly; unless it were a touch of the finest art.
The difficulty of classifying it disturbed Thursdale's balance.
"Why not?" he said, restoring the book.
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