Tell him I am not all this; if I ever was, I have forgotten it.
I am fond of pleasure--yes; but of innocent pleasure. Pain is all one; but in pleasure, you know, there are tremendous distinctions.
Say to him that Gertrude is a folded flower and that I am a serious man!"
Charlotte got up from her chair slowly rolling up her work.
"We know you are very kind to every one, Felix," she said.
"But we are extremely sorry for Mr. Brand."
"Of course you are--you especially! Because," added Felix hastily, "you are a woman. But I don't pity him. It ought to be enough for any man that you take an interest in him."
"It is not enough for Mr. Brand," said Charlotte, simply.
And she stood there a moment, as if waiting conscientiously for anything more that Felix might have to say.
"Mr. Brand is not so keen about his marriage as he was," he presently said.
"He is afraid of your sister. He begins to think she is wicked."
Charlotte looked at him now with beautiful, appealing eyes--eyes into which he saw the tears rising. "Oh, Felix, Felix," she cried, "what have you done to her?"
"I think she was asleep; I have waked her up!"
But Charlotte, apparently, was really crying, she walked straight out of the room. And Felix, standing there and meditating, had the apparent brutality to take satisfaction in her tears.
Late that night Gertrude, silent and serious, came to him in the garden; it was a kind of appointment. Gertrude seemed to like appointments.
She plucked a handful of heliotrope and stuck it into the front of her dress, but she said nothing. They walked together along one of the paths, and Felix looked at the great, square, hospitable house, massing itself vaguely in the starlight, with all its windows darkened.