They talked of their tastes, of their habits, of their friends
and acquaintances. They settled some points of doctrine, duty, and
etiquette, with the sweet seriousness of youth and its all-powerful
convictions. The listening vines would have recognized no flirtation or
love-making in their animated but important confidences; yet when Mrs.
Bradley reappeared to warn the invalid that it was time to seek his
couch, they both coughed slightly in the nervous consciousness of some
unaccustomed quality in their voices, and a sense of interruption far
beyond their own or the innocent intruder's ken.
"Well?" said Mrs. Bradley, in the sitting-room as Mainwaring's steps
retreated down the passage to his room.
"Well," said Louise with a slight yawn, leaning her pretty shoulders
languidly against the door-post, as she shaded her moonlight-accustomed
eyes from the vulgar brilliancy of Mrs. Bradley's bedroom candle.
"Well--oh, he talked a great deal about 'his people' as he called them,
and I talked about us. He's very nice. You know in some things he's
really like a boy."
"He looks much better."
"Yes; but he is far from strong yet."
Meantime, Mainwaring had no other confidant of his impressions than his
own thoughts.
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