She fulfilled her intentions. Charles, who had been flourishing under the kindness of her friendship, was puzzled by her capriciousness, but he did not question her. He was learning to accept mysteries calmly and to work at them in his head. She shuffled her feet and he pretended not to hear: she crackled her programme and he smiled down at her. This was maddening, yet it was a tribute to her power. She could do what she liked and Charles would love her; he was a great possession; she did not know what she would do without him.
As they ate their rich cakes in a famous teashop, Charles talked incessantly about the music, and when at last he paused, she said indifferently, “I didn’t hear a note.”
Mildly he advised her not to wear such tight shoes.
“Tight!” She looked down at them. “I had them made for me!”
“You seemed to be uncomfortable,” he said.
“Things you wouldn’t understand, Charles. You’re too good.”
Her eyelids quivered, but she said boldly, “Because of me?”
“No, of course not. Making noises at concerts. Shooting birds. I’ve told you so before.”
“Well, I suppose he had to come back some day.”
“What a pity,” Charles said, taking another cake.
“Oh, yes, everybody thinks so, till they know her.”
The word was startling from his lips. Charles, too, she exclaimed inwardly. Was Aunt Rose even to come between her and Charles?
“But of course”—he remembered his lesson—“you’re the most beautiful and the best woman in the world.”
“I’m not a woman at all,” she said angrily: “I’m a fiend.”
“Yes, to-day; but you won’t be to-morrow. You’ll feel different to-morrow.”
He had, she reflected, a gift of prophecy. “Yes, I shall,” she said softly, “I’m stupid. It will be all right to-morrow. I shan’t even be angry with Aunt Rose and you’ve been an angel to me. I shall never forget you.”
He said nothing. He seemed very much interested in his cake.
And because she foresaw that her anger towards Aunt Rose would soon be changed to pity, she apologized to her that night. “I’m afraid I was rude to you at luncheon.”
“Were you? Oh, not rude, Henrietta. Perhaps rather foolish and indiscreet. You should think before you speak.”
This admonition was not what Henrietta expected, and she said, “That’s just what I was doing. You mean I ought to be quiet when I’m thinking.”