He wished to show her that he understood her, and he was on the point of seizing her hand, to do he did n't know what—to hold it, to press it, to kiss it—when he heard the sharp twang of the bell at the door of the little apartment.
Mrs. Vivian fluttered away.
'It 's Angela,' she cried, and she stood there waiting and listening, smiling at Bernard, with her handkerchief pressed to her lips.
In a moment the girl came into the drawing-room, but on seeing Bernard she stopped, with her hand on the door-knob. Her mother went to her and kissed her.
'It 's Mr. Longueville, dearest—he has found us out.'
'Found us out?' repeated Angela, with a little laugh. 'What a singular expression!'
She was blushing as she had blushed when she first saw him at Blanquais. She seemed to Bernard now to have a great and peculiar brightness—something she had never had before.
'I certainly have been looking for you,' he said. 'I was greatly disappointed when I found you had taken flight from Blanquais.'
'Taken flight?' She repeated his words as she had repeated her mother's. 'That is also a strange way of speaking!'
'I don't care what I say,' said Bernard, 'so long as I make you understand that I have wanted very much to see you again, and that I have wondered every day whether I might venture—'
'I don't know why you should n't venture!' she interrupted, giving her little laugh again. 'We are not so terrible, are we, mamma?—that is, when once you have climbed our five flights of stairs.'
'I came up very fast,' said Bernard, 'and I find your apartment magnificent.'
'Mr. Longueville must come again, must he not, dear?' asked mamma.
'I shall come very often, with your leave,' Bernard declared.
'It will be immensely kind,' said Angela, looking away.
'I am not sure that you will think it that.'
'I don't know what you are trying to prove,' said Angela; 'first that we ran away from you, and then that we are not nice to our visitors.'
'Oh no, not that!' Bernard exclaimed; 'for I assure you I shall not care how cold you are with me.'
She walked away toward another door, which was masked with a curtain that she lifted.
'I am glad to hear that, for it gives me courage to say that I am very tired, and that I beg you will excuse me.'
She glanced at him a moment over her shoulder; then she passed out, dropping the curtain.
Bernard stood there face to face with Mrs. Vivian, whose eyes seemed to plead with him more than ever. In his own there was an excited smile.
'Please don't mind that,' she murmured. 'I know it 's true that she is tired.'
'Mind it, dear lady?' cried the young man. 'I delight in it. It 's just what I like.'
'Ah, she 's very peculiar!' sighed Mrs. Vivian.
'She is strange—yes. But I think I understand her a little.'
'You must come back to-morrow, then.'
'I hope to have many to-morrows!' cried Bernard as he took his departure.
CHAPTER XXIII
And he had them in fact. He called the next day at the same hour, and he found the mother and the daughter together in their pretty salon. Angela was very gentle and gracious; he suspected Mrs. Vivian had given her a tender little lecture upon the manner in which she had received him the day before. After he had been there five minutes, Mrs. Vivian took a decanter of water that was standing upon a table and went out on the balcony to irrigate her flowers. Bernard watched her a while from his place in the room; then she moved along the balcony and out of sight. Some ten minutes elapsed without her re-appearing, and then Bernard stepped to the threshold of the window and looked for her. She was not there, and as he came and took his seat near Angela again, he announced, rather formally, that Mrs. Vivian had passed back into one of the other windows.
Angela was silent a moment—then she said—
'Should you like me to call her?'
She was very peculiar—that was very true; yet Bernard held to his declaration of the day before that he now understood her a little.
'No, I don't desire it,' he said. 'I wish to see you alone; I have something particular to say to you.'
She turned her face toward him, and there was something in its expression that showed him that he looked to her more serious than he had ever looked. He sat down again; for some moments he hesitated to go on.
'You frighten me,' she said laughing; and in spite of her laugh this was obviously true.
'I assure you my state of mind is anything but formidable. I am afraid of you, on the contrary; I am humble and apologetic.'
'I am sorry for that,' said Angela. 'I particularly dislike receiving apologies, even when I know what they are for. What yours are for, I can't imagine.'
