"I would lend you the watch for a few days," I said; "only I don't know what father and mother would say."
"They mustn't know, of course," said he. "You've promised not to tell, not to let slip a word."
"Yes," I said. That promise was lying heavy on my conscience. "But if they asked me to fetch the watch and to show it to anybody?"
"Oh, they won't. I dare say it doesn't happen once in six weeks."
"I don't think it's so seldom as once in six weeks, and it might be any day," I said.
"But you don't wear it commonly?"
"No," I said.
"Oh, well, it'll all come right," says he. "They won't speak of it, or if they do, you must just put them off somehow. You can say you can't find it, and that'll be true enough. Only mind you don't let out where it is."
The marvel is that my eyes weren't opened. For wasn't it plain as daylight that he cared not a rap about my feelings, but only for his own? So long as he could get things straight for himself, I might have any amount of worry and difficulty. Besides, there was the untruthfulness of what he wanted me to do. He might be sure that I should find myself obliged either to betray him or to deceive.
He knew I wouldn't betray him. That meant that he expected me to deceive.