It took Mr. Hobhouse all this time to adjust himself to this question,
but I think he managed it not unsuccessfully.
"The--ah? Oh, yes, oh, yes. The doctor told me the story. Most
mysterious--most mysterious! What do you make of it yourself, Miss
Rendall?"
"Did the doctor tell you that I once walked with him along this very
shore? It was at night too, and he was armed with a pistol!"
A single stare of astonishment was fortunately able to cover two
emotions. My own was expressed in the thought, "What the devil is she
driving at now?" Mr. Hobhouse's was expressed otherwise.
"You don't say so! God bless me; what a risk to run! He didn't--er--shoot
at you, I hope?"
"No," she said, "he seemed pretty harmless."
"Ah, but you shouldn't run such risks, my dear young lady; you really
shouldn't! Now I remember a young lady whom I used to know--" And
thereupon Mr. Hobhouse launched into an improbable anecdote which tried
his inventive powers considerably. However, he was able to make it, and
the comments thereupon lasted till they were back at the house.
The fact was that my hardihood was not quite sufficient to stand a
conversation about my own self behind my own back. It might have been
amusing, and it might have been instructive, but it would certainly have
been embarrassing. However the incident served to reassure me that
whatever she suspected me of (and I could not get that sense of being
watched out of my head), it was not the correct suspicion.
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