She knew that I should be on pins and needles till I heard how her father
had taken Burnamy's being there, that night, and she doesn't say a word
about it."
"The general may have had a tantrum that she couldn't describe. Perhaps
she hasn't told him, yet."
"She would tell him instantly!" cried Mrs. March who began to find reason
in the supposition, as well as comfort for the hurt which the girl's
reticence had given her. "Or if she wouldn't, it would be because she was
waiting for the best chance."
"That would be like the wise daughter of a difficult father. She may be
waiting for the best chance to say how he took it. No, I'm all for Miss
Triscoe, and I hope that now, if she's taken herself off our hands,
she'll keep off."
"It's altogether likely that he's made her promise not to tell me
anything about it," Mrs. March mused aloud.
"That would be unjust to a person who had behaved so discreetly as you
have," said her husband.
They were on their way to Wurzburg, and at the first station, which was a
junction, a lady mounted to their compartment just before the train began
to move. She was stout and middle-aged, and had never been pretty, but
she bore herself with a kind of authority in spite of her thread gloves,
her dowdy gray travelling-dress, and a hat of lower middle-class English
tastelessness.
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