"Between Mrs. Vanderbridge and the Other One?"
Her look answered me.
"You think, then, that she means harm to her?"
"I don't know. Nobody knows--but she is killing her."
The clock struck ten, and I returned to my book with a yawn, while
Hopkins gathered up her work and went out, after wishing me a formal
good night. The odd part about our secret conferences was that as soon
as they were over, we began to pretend so elaborately to each other that
they had never been.
"I'll tell Mrs. Vanderbridge that you are very comfortable," was the
last remark Hopkins made before she sidled out of the door and left me
alone with the mystery. It was one of those situations--I am obliged to
repeat this over and over--that was too preposterous for me to believe
even while I was surrounded and overwhelmed by its reality. I didn't
dare face what I thought, I didn't dare face even what I felt; but I
went to bed shivering in a warm room, while I resolved passionately that
if the chance ever came to me I would stand between Mrs. Vanderbridge
and this unknown evil that threatened her.
In the morning Mrs. Vanderbridge went out shopping, and I did not see
her until the evening, when she passed me on the staircase as she was
going out to dinner and the opera. She was radiant in blue velvet, with
diamonds in her hair and at her throat, and I wondered again how any one
so lovely could ever be troubled.
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