"If I'm proud, to you, I'm not good," she said, "and if
I'm good--always to you--I'm not proud. I know at all events perfectly
how immensely you're occupied, what a quantity of work you get through
and how every minute counts for you. Don't make it a crime to me that
I'm reasonable."
No, that would show, wouldn't it? that there isn't much else. But how it
all comes back--!"
"Well, to what?" she asked.
"To the old story. You know how I'm occupied. You know how I work. You
know how I manage my time."
"Oh I see," said Nanda. "It IS my knowing, after all, everything."
"Everything. The book I just mentioned is one that, months ago---I
remember now--I lent your mother."
"Oh a thing in a blue cover? I remember then too." Nanda's face cleared
up. "I had forgotten it was lying about here, but I must have brought
it--in fact I remember I did--for Tishy. And I wrote your name on it so
that we might know--"
"That I hadn't lent it to either of you? It didn't occur to you to write
your own?" Vanderbank went on.
"Well, but if it isn't mine? It ISN'T mine, I'm sure."
"Therefore also if it can't be Tishy's--"
"The thing's simple enough--it's mother's."
"'Simple'?" Vanderbank laughed. "I like you! And may I ask if you've
read the remarkable work?"
"Oh yes." Then she wonderfully said: "For Tishy."
"To see if it would do?"
"I've often done that," the girl returned.
"And she takes your word?"
"Generally.
Pages:
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395