I see you have a taste for our friend Gibbon, too,"
and then, observing the troubled confusion of Arabella's honest face, a
sudden flash came over him of memory. He recollected distinctly that
upon the Sunday before his accident, they had talked at lunch of Julian
the Apostate, and Mrs. Cricklander had turned the conversation, and then
had referred to the subject again at dinner with an astonishing array of
facts, surprising him by her erudition.
He looked down at the slip again--yes, the date was right, and the
red-ink heading was evidently a stereotyped one; probably Arabella kept
a supply of these papers ready, being a methodical creature. And the
questions!--were they for her own education? But no--Arabella was a
cultivated person and would not require such things, and, on that
particular Sunday, had never opened the door of her lips at either meal.
"She prompts Cecilia," in a flash he thought, with a wild sense of
bitter mirth. "No wonder she can reel off statistics as she does.
'Subjects to be talked of at dinner'--forsooth!"
And Arabella stood there, her kind plain face crimson, and her brown
eyes blinking pitifully behind her glasses.
Pages:
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344