“It ‘s not so easy to lock you up,” said Bernard. “I know Wright has great influence with you, but you are after all independent beings.”
“I am not an independent being. If my mother and Mr. Wright were to agree together to put me out of harm’s way they could easily manage it.”
“You seem to have been trying something of that sort,” said Bernard. “You have been so terribly invisible.”
“It was because I thought you had designs upon us; that you were watching for us—to take care of us.”
“You contradict yourself! You said just now that you believed I had left Baden.”
“That was an artificial—a conventional speech. Is n’t a lady always supposed to say something of that sort to a visitor by way of pretending to have noticed that she has not seen him?”
“You know I would never have left Baden without coming to bid you good-bye,” said Bernard.
The girl made no rejoinder; she stood looking out at the little sunny, slanting, rough-paved German street.
“Are you taking care of us now?” she asked in a moment. “Has the operation begun? Have you heard the news, mamma?” she went on. “Do you know that Mr. Wright has made us over to Mr. Longueville, to be kept till called for? Suppose Mr. Wright should never call for us!”
Mrs. Vivian left her writing-table and came toward Bernard, smiling at him and pressing her hands together.