"He is very nice; very delightful looking."
"Yes; very delightful looking. Do you happen to remember what I said to you
about him, long ago, in the winter? About him and mama?"
"Yes"; Jack flushed; "I remember."
"I told you to wait."
"Yes; you told me to wait."
"You will own now, I hope, that I was right."
"Right in thinking that he--that they were more than friends?"
"Right in thinking that he was in love with her; that she allowed it."
"I suppose you were right."
"I was right. And it's more than that now. I have every reason to believe
that she intends to marry him."
He ignored her portentous pause and drop of the voice, walking on with
downcast eyes. "You mean, it's an accepted thing?"
"Oh, no! not yet accepted. Mama respects the black edge, you know. But I
heard Mrs. Wake and Mrs. Pakenham talking about it."
"Heard? How could you have heard?" Jack's eyes, stern with accusation, were
now upon her.
It was impossible for Imogen to lie consciously, and though she had not,
in her eagerness that he should own her right and share her reprobation,
foreseen this confrontation, she held, before it, all the dignity of full
sincerity.
"You are changed, indeed, Jack, when you can suspect me of eavesdropping! I
was asleep on the sofa in the library, worn out with work, and I woke to
hear them talking in the next room, with the door ajar. I did not realize,
for some moments, what was being said.
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