The girl, whose sensations were always easily set in motion, had at first a good deal to say of the music, for which she claimed, on her hearer’s part, an active show of approval or dissent; but this dismissed, she turned a melting face on Mrs. Peyton and said with one of her rapid modulations of tone: “I was so sorry about poor Mr. Darrow.”
Mrs. Peyton uttered an assenting sigh. “It was a great grief to us--a great loss to my son.”
“Yes--I know. I can imagine what you must have felt. And then it was so unlucky that it should have happened just now.”
Mrs. Peyton shot a reconnoitring glance at her profile. “His dying, you mean, on the eve of success?”
Miss Verney turned a frank smile upon her. “One ought to feel that, of course--but I’m afraid I am very selfish where my friends are concerned, and I was thinking of Mr. Peyton’s having to give up his work at such a critical moment.” She spoke without a note of deprecation: there was a pagan freshness in her opportunism.
Mrs. Peyton was silent, and the girl continued after a pause: “I suppose now it will be almost impossible for him to finish his drawings in time. It’s a pity he hadn’t worked out the whole scheme a little sooner. Then the details would have come of themselves.”
Mrs. Peyton felt a contempt strangely mingled with exultation. If only the girl would talk in that way to Dick!
“He has hardly had time to think of himself lately,” she said, trying to keep the coldness out of her voice.
“No, of course not,” Miss Verney assented; “but isn’t that all the more reason for his friends to think of him? It was very dear of him to give up everything to nurse Mr. Darrow--but, after all, if a man is going to get on in his career there are times when he must think first of himself.”
Mrs. Peyton paused, trying to choose her words with deliberation. It was quite clear now that Dick had not spoken, and she felt the responsibility that devolved upon her.
“Getting on in a career--is that always the first thing to be considered?” she asked, letting her eyes rest musingly on the girl’s.
The glance did not disconcert Miss Verney, who returned it with one of equal comprehensiveness. “Yes,” she said quickly, and with a slight blush. “With a temperament like Mr. Peyton’s I believe it is. Some people can pick themselves up after any number of bad falls: I am not sure that he could. I think discouragement would weaken instead of strengthening him.”