The business went
the faster, however, from the moment she got her glimpse of it; it then
fell into its place in her general, her habitual view of the particular
phenomenon that, had she felt the need of words for it, she might have
called her personal relation to her knowledge. This relation had never
been so lively as during the time she waited with her old governess for
Sir Claude's reappearance, and what made it so was exactly that Mrs. Wix
struck her as having a new suspicion of it. Mrs. Wix had never yet had a
suspicion--this was certain--so calculated to throw her pupil, in spite
of the closer union of such adventurous hours, upon the deep defensive.
Her pupil made out indeed as many marvels as she had made out on the
rush to Folkestone; and if in Sir Claude's company on that occasion Mrs.
Wix was the constant implication, so in Mrs. Wix's, during these hours,
Sir Claude was--and most of all through long pauses--the perpetual, the
insurmountable theme. It all took them back to the first flush of his
marriage and to the place he held in the schoolroom at that crisis of
love and pain; only he had himself blown to a much bigger balloon the
large consciousness he then filled out.
They went through it all again, and indeed while the interval dragged
by the very weight of its charm they went, in spite of defences and
suspicions, through everything. Their intensified clutch of the future
throbbed like a clock ticking seconds; but this was a timepiece that
inevitably, as well, at the best, rang occasionally a portentous hour.
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