. . oh, it was very charming and very touching--and
quite mortifying. It was the look of a mother to her son, of a sister
to her brother. It implied trust; it implied the want of any necessity
for barriers. By God, she looked at me as if I were an invalid--as
any kind woman may look at a poor chap in a bath chair. And,
yes, from that day forward she always treated me and not Florence
as if I were the invalid. Why, she would run after me with a rug
upon chilly days. I suppose, therefore, that her eyes had made a
favourable answer. Or, perhaps, it wasn't a favourable answer.
And then Florence said: "And so the whole round table is begun."
Again Edward Ashburnham gurgled slightly in his throat; but
Leonora shivered a little, as if a goose had walked over her grave.
And I was passing her the nickel-silver basket of rolls. Avanti! . . .
IV
So began those nine years of uninterrupted tranquillity. They were
characterized by an extraordinary want of any communicativeness
on the part of the Ashburnhams to which we, on our part, replied
by leaving out quite as extraordinarily, and nearly as completely,
the personal note. Indeed, you may take it that what characterized
our relationship was an atmosphere of taking everything for
granted.
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