Confidence [38]
its stiff boughs motionless and its leaves forever trembling. They made almost the whole circuit of the garden, and then Angela mentioned very quietly that she had heard that morning from Mr. Wright, and that he would not return for another week.
"You had better stay," she presently added, as if Gordon's continued absence were an added reason.
"I don't know," said Bernard. "It is sometimes difficult to say what one had better do."
I hesitate to bring against him that most inglorious of all charges, an accusation of sentimental fatuity, of the disposition to invent obstacles to enjoyment so that he might have the pleasure of seeing a pretty girl attempt to remove them. But it must be admitted that if Bernard really thought at present that he had better leave Baden, the observation I have just quoted was not so much a sign of this conviction as of the hope that his companion would proceed to gainsay it. The hope was not disappointed, though I must add that no sooner had it been gratified than Bernard began to feel ashamed of it.
"This certainly is not one of those cases," said Angela. "The thing is surely very simple now."
"What makes it so simple?"
She hesitated a moment.
"The fact that I ask you to stay."
"You ask me?" he repeated, softly.
"Ah," she exclaimed, "one does n't say those things twice!"
She turned away, and they went back to her mother, who gave Bernard a wonderful little look of half urgent, half remonstrant inquiry. As they left the garden he walked beside Mrs. Vivian, Angela going in front of them at a distance. The elder lady began immediately to talk to him of Gordon Wright.
"He 's not coming back for another week, you know," she said. "I am sorry he stays away so long."
"Ah yes," Bernard answered, "it seems very long indeed."
And it had, in fact, seemed to him very long.
"I suppose he is always likely to have business," said Mrs. Vivian.
"You may be very sure it is not for his pleasure that he stays away."
"I know he is faithful to old friends," said Mrs. Vivian. "I am sure he has not forgotten us."
"I certainly count upon that," Bernard exclaimed--"remembering him as we do!"
Mrs. Vivian glanced at him gratefully.
"Oh yes, we remember him--we remember him daily, hourly. At least, I can speak for my daughter and myself. He has been so very kind to us." Bernard said nothing, and she went on. "And you have been so very kind to us, too, Mr. Longueville. I want so much to thank you."
"Oh no, don't!" said Bernard, frowning. "I would rather you should n't."
"Of course," Mrs. Vivian added, "I know it 's all on his account; but that makes me wish to thank you all the more. Let me express my gratitude, in advance, for the rest of the time, till he comes back. That 's more responsibility than you bargained for," she said, with a little nervous laugh.
"Yes, it 's more than I bargained for. I am thinking of going away."
Mrs. Vivian almost gave a little jump, and then she paused on the Baden cobble-stones, looking up at him.
"If you must go, Mr. Longueville--don't sacrifice yourself!"
The exclamation fell upon Bernard's ear with a certain softly mocking cadence which was sufficient, however, to make this organ tingle.
"Oh, after all, you know," he said, as they walked on--"after all, you know, I am not like Wright--I have no business."
He walked with the ladies to the door of their lodging. Angela kept always in front. She stood there, however, at the little confectioner's window until the others came up. She let her mother pass in, and then she said to Bernard, looking at him--
"Shall I see you again?"
"Some time, I hope."
"I mean--are you going away?"
Bernard looked for a moment at a little pink sugar cherub-- a species of Cupid, with a gilded bow--which figured among the pastry-cook's enticements. Then he said--
"I will come and tell you this evening."
And in the evening he went to tell her; she had mentioned during the walk in the garden of the Schloss that they should not go out. As he approached Mrs. Vivian's
"You had better stay," she presently added, as if Gordon's continued absence were an added reason.
"I don't know," said Bernard. "It is sometimes difficult to say what one had better do."
I hesitate to bring against him that most inglorious of all charges, an accusation of sentimental fatuity, of the disposition to invent obstacles to enjoyment so that he might have the pleasure of seeing a pretty girl attempt to remove them. But it must be admitted that if Bernard really thought at present that he had better leave Baden, the observation I have just quoted was not so much a sign of this conviction as of the hope that his companion would proceed to gainsay it. The hope was not disappointed, though I must add that no sooner had it been gratified than Bernard began to feel ashamed of it.
"This certainly is not one of those cases," said Angela. "The thing is surely very simple now."
"What makes it so simple?"
She hesitated a moment.
"The fact that I ask you to stay."
"You ask me?" he repeated, softly.
"Ah," she exclaimed, "one does n't say those things twice!"
She turned away, and they went back to her mother, who gave Bernard a wonderful little look of half urgent, half remonstrant inquiry. As they left the garden he walked beside Mrs. Vivian, Angela going in front of them at a distance. The elder lady began immediately to talk to him of Gordon Wright.
"He 's not coming back for another week, you know," she said. "I am sorry he stays away so long."
"Ah yes," Bernard answered, "it seems very long indeed."
And it had, in fact, seemed to him very long.
"I suppose he is always likely to have business," said Mrs. Vivian.
"You may be very sure it is not for his pleasure that he stays away."
"I know he is faithful to old friends," said Mrs. Vivian. "I am sure he has not forgotten us."
"I certainly count upon that," Bernard exclaimed--"remembering him as we do!"
Mrs. Vivian glanced at him gratefully.
"Oh yes, we remember him--we remember him daily, hourly. At least, I can speak for my daughter and myself. He has been so very kind to us." Bernard said nothing, and she went on. "And you have been so very kind to us, too, Mr. Longueville. I want so much to thank you."
"Oh no, don't!" said Bernard, frowning. "I would rather you should n't."
"Of course," Mrs. Vivian added, "I know it 's all on his account; but that makes me wish to thank you all the more. Let me express my gratitude, in advance, for the rest of the time, till he comes back. That 's more responsibility than you bargained for," she said, with a little nervous laugh.
"Yes, it 's more than I bargained for. I am thinking of going away."
Mrs. Vivian almost gave a little jump, and then she paused on the Baden cobble-stones, looking up at him.
"If you must go, Mr. Longueville--don't sacrifice yourself!"
The exclamation fell upon Bernard's ear with a certain softly mocking cadence which was sufficient, however, to make this organ tingle.
"Oh, after all, you know," he said, as they walked on--"after all, you know, I am not like Wright--I have no business."
He walked with the ladies to the door of their lodging. Angela kept always in front. She stood there, however, at the little confectioner's window until the others came up. She let her mother pass in, and then she said to Bernard, looking at him--
"Shall I see you again?"
"Some time, I hope."
"I mean--are you going away?"
Bernard looked for a moment at a little pink sugar cherub-- a species of Cupid, with a gilded bow--which figured among the pastry-cook's enticements. Then he said--
"I will come and tell you this evening."
And in the evening he went to tell her; she had mentioned during the walk in the garden of the Schloss that they should not go out. As he approached Mrs. Vivian's