There's no one in the world as clever as
Nick."
Muriel felt inclined to agree with her, though in her opinion this
distinguishing quality was not an altogether admirable one. She
infinitely preferred people with fewer brains. She would not, however,
say this to Olga, and they paced on together under the trees in
silence. Suddenly a warm hand slid within her arm, and Olga's grey
eyes, very loving and wistful, looked up into hers.
"Muriel darling," she whispered softly, "don't you--don't you--like
Nick after all?"
The colour rushed over Muriel's face in a vivid flood.
"Like him! Like him!" she stammered. "Why do you ask?"
"Because, dear--don't be vexed, I love you frightfully--you did hurt
him so at lunch," explained Olga, pressing very close to her.
"Hurt him! Hurt him!" Again Muriel repeated her words, then,
recovering sharply, broke into a sudden laugh. "My dear child, I
couldn't possibly do such a thing if I tried."
"But you did, you did!" persisted Olga, a faint note of indignation in
her voice. "You don't know Nick. He feels--tremendously. Of course
you might not see it, for it doesn't often show. But I know--I always
know--when he is hurt, by the way he laughs. And he was hurt to-day."
She stuck firmly to her point, notwithstanding Muriel's equally
persistent attitude of incredulity, till even Muriel was conscious at
last in her inner soul of a faint wonder, a dim and wholly negligible
sense of regret.
Pages:
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258