I showed him
that the first evening he was here. He has never spoken to me again--of
that sort of thing, and I don't think he ever will. He doesn't understand
being refused anything. I suppose he never has been before in his life."
"Weren't you, perhaps, a little bit short?" he hazarded; and she
considered the possibility.
"No, I don't think so. I wasn't more abrupt than he was--after a year."
She paused. "He threw out her death--Mrs. Ingram's death--" she forced
herself to the name--"quite casually, as if he had been saying, 'By-the-
by, the Rector's coming to dine.' If he had wanted me, do you think he
would have put it like that?"
"Nevile," said Chevenix, "would put anything--like anything. He's that
sort, you know. He'd take for granted that you understood lots of things
which he couldn't express. But I will say this for Nevile. He's not petty.
He's fairly large-minded. For instance, I'll bet you what you like he
didn't mind your not writing to him--or reproach you with it."
She opened her eyes. "Of course he didn't. He was perfectly happy. He told
me he had been idiotically happy. He knew I was here, because I forwarded
his letters--and that was all he cared about.
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