THE THIRD WINDOW
THE THIRD WINDOW
BY
ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK
(MRS. BASIL DE SELINCOURT)
[Illustration: colophon]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1920
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY ANNE DOUGLAS DE SELINCOURT
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Chapter: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X.
THE THIRD WINDOW
I
“I LOVE this window,” said Antonia, walking down the drawing-room; “andthis one. They both look over the moors, you see. This view is evenlovelier.” She stopped at the end of the long room, and the young manwith the pale face and the limping step followed and looked out of thethird window with her. “But—I don’t know why—I hate it. I wish itweren’t here.”
Captain Saltonhall looked out and said nothing.
“I wonder if you see what I mean,” said Antonia.
“No; I don’t. I like it.” The young man spoke gently and with somethingof a drawl, unimpressed, apparently, by her antipathy and putting up theback of a placid forefinger to stroke along the edge of his moustache.
“One gets the hills, peaceful and silvery; one gets the walled gardenand the cedar,” she enumerated.
“The little pond with its fountain is as serene as a happy dream. It’sall like a happy dream. Yet—I wish there weren’t this window here.”
“You could wall it up if you don’t like it,” Captain Saltonhallsuggested, his eyes, as he stood behind her, turning from the walledgarden beneath to fix themselves with a rather sad attentiveness uponthe head of the young woman. Her dark hair was near him and the curve ofher cheek; he thought that he felt against his the warmth of hershoulder in its thin black dress.
She looked out, motionless, for a little while; then, turning suddenly,as if with impatience of her thoughts, found him so near, and his eyeson hers. She, too, was pale and tall; but all in her was soft, splendid,and almost opulent, while he was sharp-edged and wasted. He looked muchthe older, though they were of the same age; both, indeed, were veryyoung.
He did not move away as she faced him nor did his look alter. Sad andattentive, it merely remained attached upon her, and if he felt anynervousness it showed itself only in the slight gesture of hisforefinger passing meditatively along the edge of his moustache. It wasshe who spoke. “Well, Bevis?” she said gravely. Her look asked: “Haveyou anything to tell me?”
“Well, Tony,” he returned. He had, apparently, nothing to say.
She studied him for a moment longer, and then, with an addedimpatience—if anything so soft could so be called—walking away to aneasy-chair before the fire, she said, “You think me very silly, Isuppose.”
“Silly? Why?”
“Becau