I watched the girl with increasing
interest; I couldn't help asking myself a question or two about her and
even perceiving already (in a dim and general way) that rather marked
embarrassment, or at least anxiety attended her. Wasn't it complicating
that she should have needed, by remaining long enough, to assuage a
certain suspense, to learn whether or no Jasper were going to sail?
Hadn't something particular passed between them on the occasion or at the
period to which we had caught their allusion, and didn't she really not
know her mother was bringing her to _his_ mother's, though she apparently
had thought it well not to betray knowledge? Such things were
symptomatic--though indeed one scarce knew of what--on the part of a
young lady betrothed to that curious cross-barred phantom of a Mr.
Porterfield. But I am bound to add that she gave me no further warrant
for wonder than was conveyed in her all tacitly and covertly encouraging
her mother to linger. Somehow I had a sense that _she_ was conscious of
the indecency of this. I got up myself to go, but Mrs. Nettlepoint
detained me after seeing that my movement wouldn't be taken as a hint,
and I felt she wished me not to leave my fellow visitors on her hands.
Jasper complained of the closeness of the room, said that it was not a
night to sit in a room--one ought to be out in the air, under the sky.
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