He had
merely been standing, looking at an illustrated paper, waiting for
dinner. Dinner was twenty minutes late or the Ashburnhams
would not have been alone together. No, he hadn't had the least
idea of framing that speech. He had just been standing in a silent
agony of fear, of longing, of heat, of fever. He was thinking that
they were going back to Branshaw in a month and that Maisie
Maidan was going to remain behind and die. And then, that had
come out.
The punkah swished in the darkened room; Leonora lay exhausted
and motionless in her cane lounge; neither of them stirred. They
were both at that time very ill in indefinite ways.
And then Leonora said:
"Yes. I promised it to Charlie Maidan this afternoon. I have
offered to pay her ex's myself."
Edward just saved himself from saying: "Good God!" You see, he
had not the least idea of what Leonora knew--about Maisie, about
Mrs Basil, even about La Dolciquita. It was a pretty enigmatic
situation for him. It struck him that Leonora must be intending to
manage his loves as she managed his money affairs and it made
her more hateful to him--and more worthy of respect.
Leonora, at any rate, had managed his money to some purpose.
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