In an obscure way she half resented the brief, off-hand missive. And
she paid no further attention to it.
A month later, she, her father and brother, were on their way to
Switzerland. Stepping into the boat at Dover, she saw in front of
her Arnold Jacks. It was a perfectly smooth passage, and they talked
all the way; for part of the time, alone.
"I think," said Arnold, at the first opportunity, looking her in the
face, "you never replied to a letter of mine last month about a
certain private affair?"
"A letter? Oh, yes. I didn't think it required an answer."
"Don't you generally answer letters from your friends?"
Irene, in turn, gave him a steady look.
"Generally, yes. But not when I have the choice between silence and
being disagreeable."
"You were both silent _and_ disagreeable," said Arnold, smiling. "Do
you mind being disagreeable again, and telling me what your answer
would have been?"
"Simply that I never, if I can help it, talk about weddings and
rumours of weddings, and that I couldn't make an exception in your
case."
Arnold laughed in the old way.
"A most original rule, Miss Derwent, and admirable. If all kept to
it I shouldn't have been annoyed by that silly chatter. It occurs to
me that I perhaps ought not to have sent you that note. I did it in
a moment of irritation--wanting to have the stupid thing
contradicted right and left, as fast as possible.
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