And though there was
nothing but a friendly courtesy in her manner toward him, Simpkins knew
his subject well enough to understand that, whatever her real feelings
were, she was far too clever to be tripped into betraying them to him.
"She doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve--if she has a heart," he
decided.
He was trying to make up his mind to force things to some sort of a
crisis, one morning, when Mrs. Athelstone called him to her desk and
said rather sharply:
"You've been neglecting your work, Simpkins. Isis looks as if she hadn't
been dusted since you came."
This was the fact. Simpkins never passed the black altar without a
backward glance, as if he were fearful of an attack from behind. And he
had determined that nothing should tempt him to a tete-a-tete with the
statue behind the veil. But having so senseless, so cowardly a feeling
was one thing, and letting Mrs. Athelstone know it another. So he only
replied:
"I'm very sorry; afraid I have been a little careless about the statue."
And taking up a soft cloth, he walked toward the altar.
It was quite dark behind the veil; so dark that he could see nothing at
first. But after the moment in which his eyes grew accustomed to the
change, he made out the vague lines of the statue in the faint light
from above. He set to work about the pedestal, touching it gingerly at
first, then more boldly.
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