"Distasteful," was a
light word to use in speaking of anything that Edmonson did not like;
his feelings were so strong that he seemed always ready to be
vindictive. Her feeling toward him for this intimation had been anger
which had cooled into contempt of a nature like his, ready to find
baseness everywhere. The suggestion was no reproach to her, for she had
had no thoughts of disloyalty to Katie. As she sat there still seeming
to listen, suddenly, it seemed to her, for she could not trace its
coming, a picture rose before her with the vividness of reality. She saw
Archdale and Edmonson standing together on the deck of the same vessel
bound upon the same errand, always together; and she remembered
Edmonson' muttered words, and his face dark with passion over all its
fairness.
She went home full of secret trouble, trouble too vague for utterance.
Besides what she knew and felt there had been something else that she
had not got at, and that disturbed Lord Bulchester. The rest of the day
she was more or less abstracted, and went to bed with her mind full of
indistinct images brooded over by that vague trouble, the very stuff of
which dreams are made. And more than this, out of which the brain in the
unconscious cerebration of sleep, sometimes, drawing all the tangled
threads into order, weaves from them a web on which is pictured the
truth.
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