'I don't want you to invent anything. I only want you to observe her—to study her in complete independence. You will have her to yourself—my absence will leave you at liberty. Hang it, sir,' Gordon declared, 'I should think you would like it!'
'Damn it, sir, you 're delicious!' Bernard answered; and he broke into an irrepressible laugh. 'I don't suppose it 's for my pleasure that you suggest the arrangement.'
Gordon took a turn about the room again.
'No, it 's for mine. At least, it 's for my benefit.'
'For your benefit?'
'I have got all sorts of ideas—I told you the other day. They are all mixed up together and I want a fresh impression.'
'My impressions are never fresh,' Bernard replied.
'They would be if you had a little good-will—if you entered a little into my dilemma.' The note of reproach was so distinct in these words that Bernard stood staring. 'You never take anything seriously,' his companion went on.
Bernard tried to answer as seriously as possible.
'Your dilemma seems to me of all dilemmas the strangest.'
'That may be; but different people take things differently. Don't you see,' Gordon went on with a sudden outbreak of passion—'don't you see that I am horribly divided in mind? I care immensely for Angela Vivian—and yet—and yet—I am afraid of her.'
'Afraid of her?'
'I am afraid she 's cleverer than I—that she would be a difficult wife; that she might do strange things.'
'What sort of things?'
'Well, that she might flirt, for instance.'
'That 's not a thing for a man to fear.'
'Not when he supposes his wife to be fond of him—no. But I don't suppose that—I have given that up. If I should induce Angela Vivian to accept me she would do it on grounds purely reasonable. She would think it best, simply. That would give her a chance to repent.'
Bernard sat for some time looking at his friend.
'You say she is cleverer than you. It 's impossible to be cleverer than you.'
'Oh, come, Longueville!' said Gordon, angrily.
'I am speaking very seriously. You have done a remarkably clever thing. You have impressed me with the reality, and with—what shall I term it?—the estimable character of what you call your dilemma. Now this fresh impression of mine—what do you propose to do with it when you get it?'
'Such things are always useful. It will be a good thing to have.'
'I am much obliged to you; but do you propose to let anything depend upon it? Do you propose to take or to leave Miss Vivian—that is, to return to the charge or to give up trying—in consequence of my fresh impression?'
Gordon seemed perfectly unembarrassed by this question, in spite of the ironical light which it projected upon his sentimental perplexity.
'I propose to do what I choose!' he said.
'That 's a relief to me,' Bernard rejoined. 'This idea of yours is, after all, only the play of the scientific mind.'
'I shall contradict you flat if I choose,' Gordon went on.
'Ah, it 's well to warn me of that,' said Bernard, laughing. 'Even the most sincere judgment in the world likes to be notified a little of the danger of being contradicted.'
'Is yours the most sincere judgment in the world?' Gordon demanded.
'That 's a very pertinent question. Does n't it occur to you that you may have reason to be jealous—leaving me alone, with an open field, with the woman of your choice?'
'I wish to heaven I could be jealous!' Gordon exclaimed. 'That would simplify the thing—that would give me a lift.'
And the next day, after some more talk, it seemed really with a hope of this contingency—though, indeed, he laughed about it—that he started for England.
CHAPTER XI
For the three or four days that followed Gordon Wright's departure, Bernard saw nothing of the ladies who had been committed to his charge. They chose to remain in seclusion, and he was at liberty to interpret this fact as an expression of regret at the loss of Gordon's good offices. He knew other people at Baden, and he went to see them and endeavored, by cultivating their society, to await in patience the re-appearance of Mrs. Vivian and her companions. But on the fourth day he became conscious that other people were much less interesting than the trio of American ladies who had lodgings above the confectioner's, and he made bold to go and knock at their door. He had been asked to take care of them, and this function presupposed contact. He had met Captain Lovelock the day before, wandering about with a rather crest-fallen aspect, and the young Englishman had questioned him eagerly as to the whereabouts of Mrs. Vivian.
'Gad, I believe they 've left the place—left the place without giving a fellow warning!' cried Lovelock.
'Oh no, I think they are here still,' said Bernard. 'My friend Wright has gone away for a week or two, but I
