not come, that he had left town without seeing Lennie again. He had known that he had no desire to see her. How stupid of him to have come!
After a long pause, Lennie managed to insert a reference to the subject which stood between them.
The Countess has gone, she remarked, rather self-consciously.
Yes.
I've seen practically nothing of you since you met her . . .
He was silent.
Did she tell you that I called on her last week?
No. His reply was truthful, his manner indifferent. No, she didn't tell me.
I didn't think, some devil prompted her to go on, although she knew she was making an error, that you were the kind of person who would desert your old friends for new ones.
I haven't done that, he muttered.
You mean a good deal to me, Gareth, she continued. I can't tell you how much. Now that she's gone I'm glad! She was taking you away from me. Lennie attempted to hide the seriousness of this accusation behind a smile, but her lips twitched nervously.
She waited for a reply. None came, and so she went on, Now that she has gone, and I was hoping that we might, we might . . . become friends again, now you are going away too.
