"You are very preposterous," she said. "Go
on. You always amuse one." Then as if Hilda's going on were precisely
the thing she could not quite endure, she said quickly, "The
_Coromandel_ is telegraphed from Colombo to-day."
"Ah!", said Hilda.
"He leaves for Madras to-morrow. The thing is to take place there, you
know."
"Then nothing but shipwreck can save him."
"Nothing but--what a horrible idea! Don't you think they may be happy? I
really think they may."
"There is not one of the elements that give people, when they commit the
paramount stupidity of marrying, reason to hope that they may not be
miserable. Not one. If he were a strong man I should pity him less. But
he's not. He's immensely dependent on his tastes, his friends, his
circumstances."
Alicia looked at Hilda; her glance betrayed an attention caught upon an
accidental phrase. She did not repeat it, she turned it over in her
mind.
"You are thinking," Hilda said accusingly. "What are you thinking
about?"
"Oh, nothing. I saw Stephen yesterday, I thought him looking rather
wretched."
A shadow of grave consideration winged itself across Hilda's eyes.
"He works so much too hard," she said.
Pages:
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383