Since the night of her return Justine had felt sure that Mrs. Ansell would speak; but the elder lady was given to hawk-like circlings about her subject, to hanging over it and contemplating it before her wings dropped for the descent.
Now, however, it was plain that she had resolved to strike; and Justine had a sense of relief at the thought. She had been too long isolated in her anxiety, her powerlessness to help; and she had a vague hope that Mrs. Ansell’s worldly wisdom might accomplish what her inexperience had failed to achieve.
“Shall we sit by the fire? I am glad to find you alone,” Mrs. Ansell began, with the pleasant abruptness that was one of the subtlest instruments of her indirection; and as Justine acquiesced, she added, yielding her slight lines to the luxurious depths of an arm-chair: “I have been rather suddenly asked by an invalid cousin to go to Europe with her next week, and I can’t go contentedly without being at peace about our friends.”
She paused, but Justine made no answer. In spite of her growing sympathy for Mrs. Ansell she could not overcome an inherent distrust, not of her methods, but of her ultimate object. What, for instance, was her conception of being at peace about the Amhersts? Justine’s own conviction was that, as far as their final
welfare was concerned, any terms were better between
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