"Mrs. Le Geyt won't live long enough."
I started. "You think not?"
"I don't think, I am sure of it. We are at the fifth act now. I watched
Mr. Le Geyt closely all through lunch, and I'm more confident than ever
that the end is coming. He is temporarily crushed; but he is like steam
in a boiler, seething, seething, seething. One day she will sit on the
safety-valve, and the explosion will come. When it comes"--she raised
aloft one quick hand in the air as if striking a dagger home--"good-bye
to her!"
For the next few months I saw much of Le Geyt; and the more I saw of
him, the more I saw that my witch's prognosis was essentially correct.
They never quarrelled; but Mrs. Le Geyt, in her unobtrusive way, held a
quiet hand over her husband which became increasingly apparent. In the
midst of her fancy-work (those busy fingers were never idle) she kept
her eyes well fixed on him. Now and again I saw him glance at his
motherless girls with what looked like a tender, protecting regret;
especially when "Clara" had been most openly drilling them; but he dared
not interfere. She was crushing their spirit, as she was crushing their
father's--and all, bear in mind, for the best of motives! She had their
interest at heart; she wanted to do what was right for them.
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