Olive listened in serious silence; she saw Verena was quite carried
away; of course she hadn't gone so far with her without knowing that
phase.
"Did Mr. Burrage try to make love to you?" Miss Chancellor inquired at
last, without a smile.
Verena had taken off her hat to arrange her feather, and as she placed
it on her head again, her uplifted arms making a frame for her face, she
said: "Yes, I suppose it was meant for love."
Olive waited for her to tell more, to tell how she had treated him, kept
him in his place, made him feel that that question was over long ago;
but as Verena gave her no further information she did not insist,
conscious as she always was that in such a relation as theirs there
should be a great respect on either side for the liberty of each. She
had never yet infringed on Verena's, and of course she wouldn't begin
now. Moreover, with the request that she meant presently to make of her
she felt that she must be discreet. She wondered whether Henry Burrage
were really going to begin again; whether his mother had only been
acting in his interest in getting them to come on. Certainly, the bright
spot in such a prospect was that if she listened to him she couldn't
listen to Basil Ransom; and he _had_ told Olive herself last night, when
he put them into their carriage, that he hoped to prove to her yet that
he had come round to her gospel. But the old sickness stole upon her
again, the faintness of discouragement, as she asked herself why in the
name of pity Verena should listen to any one at all but Olive
Chancellor.
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