'I think it's very
sad.'
'For me? Oh, yes, but I wasn't thinking of that. I was thinking of
your charming aunt, the most beautiful woman in Radstowe. That's what
I have heard her called. Yet why hasn't she married? Can't she find
anybody'--the voice was gentle--'to love her? She suspected that mare
but she warned nobody. Funny--'
Henrietta had a physical inward trembling. She felt a dreadful rage
against the woman on the couch, a sickening disgust, such as she would
have felt at looking down a dark, deep well and seeing slime and blind
ugliness at the bottom. She felt as though her ears were dirty; she
tried to move, but she sat perfectly still and, dreading what would
come next, she listened, fascinated.
'Perhaps she is in love with somebody. Does she get many letters,
Henrietta? She is very reserved, she doesn't tell me much; but, of
course, I'm interested in her.' She laughed again. 'I am very anxious
for her happiness. It would comfort me to know anything you can tell
me.'
Henrietta managed to stand up. 'I know nothing,' she said in a
slightly broken voice. 'I don't want to know anything.'
Christabel interrupted smoothly. 'Perhaps you are wise or you couldn't
stay happily in that house. They're all like witches, those women.
They frighten me. You must be very brave, Henrietta.'
'I'm very grateful,' Henrietta said; 'and I shan't come here again,
no, never. I don't know what you have been trying to tell me, but I
don't believe it.
Pages:
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155