At
any rate, Mr. Bingham, I think you could cheer her up a little; there is
no need for her to give up hope yet."
Geoffrey burst into a short grim laugh. The idea of Beatrice languishing
for Owen Davies, indeed the irony of the whole position, was too much
for his sense of humour.
"Yes," he said, "I daresay that it might be a good match for her, but I
do not know how she would get on with Mr. Davies."
"Get on! why, well enough, of course. Women are soft, and can squeeze
into most holes, especially if they are well lined. Besides, he may be
a bit heavy, but I think she is pining for him, and it's a pity that
she should waste her life like that. What, are you going to bed? Well,
good-night--good-night."
Geoffrey did go to bed, but not to sleep. For a long while he lay awake,
thinking. He thought of the last night which he had spent in this little
room, of its strange experiences, of all that had happened since, and
of the meeting of to-day. Could he, after that meeting, any longer
doubt what were the feelings with which Beatrice regarded him? It was
difficult to so, and yet there was still room for error.
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