Well, and
then...
One day the Doctor began talking about Edwarda. I heard her name, heard
what she had said and done, and it was no longer of any great importance
to me; it was as if he spoke of some distant, irrelevant thing. So
quickly one can forget, I thought to myself, and wondered at it.
"Well, and what do you think of Edwarda yourself, since you ask? I have
not thought of her for weeks, to tell the truth. Wait a bit--it seems to
me there must have been something between you and her, you were so often
together. You acted host one day at a picnic on the island, and she was
hostess. Don't deny it, Doctor, there was something--a sort of
understanding. No, for Heaven's sake don't answer me. You owe me no
explanation, I am not asking to be told anything at all--let us talk of
something else if you like. How long before I can get about again?"
I sat there thinking of what I had said. Why was I inwardly afraid lest
the Doctor should speak out? What was Edwarda to me? I had forgotten
her.
And later the talk turned on her again, and I interrupted him once
more--God knows what it was I dreaded to hear.
"What do you break off like that for?" he asked. "Is it that you can't
bear to hear me speak her name?"
"Tell me," I said, "what is your honest opinion of Edwarda? I should be
interested to know.
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