She followed him and stood by his
side. It was now plain to her that there was something more to be
told--and that he was hesitating how to confide it to his wife.
"Go on," she said resignedly.
He had expected her to take his arm, or perhaps to caress him, or at
least to encourage him by her gentlest words and her prettiest smiles.
The steady self-restraint which she now manifested was a sign, as he
interpreted it, of suppressed resentment. Shrinking, honestly
shrinking, from the bare possibility of another quarrel, he confronted
the hard necessities of further confession.
"Well, now," he said, "it's only this--you mustn't look into the empty
bedroom to-night."
"Why not?"
"Ah, for the best of all good reasons! Because you might find somebody
in there."
This reply excited her curiosity: her eyes rested on him eagerly. "Some
friend of yours?" she asked.
He persisted in an assumption of good-humour, which betrayed itself as
mere artifice in the clumsiest manner: "I declare I feel as if I were
in a court of justice, being cross-examined by a lawyer of skill and
dexterity! Well, my sweet counsellor, no--not exactly a friend of
mine."
She reflected for a moment.
Pages:
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399