"Better not be late; and I have my bag to unpack."
"I'll unpack it for you. Do let me—and then you can be quiet a little longer. Is the key upstairs? Oh, thanks; I'll be very careful with everything."
Harvey had remained a bachelor long enough to prefer unpacking for himself, but a stronger sensation at that moment was a desire to cut short the talk. He would not have had Julia know this for the world, so he fell in with her proposal.
"I'll put everything out ready, so as to save you trouble," she said, hastening away.
For ten minutes Harvey was alone, and during that short interval he came to a weighty decision, reversing a former intention. He would not speak to Julia about the letter from Mr. Dalrymple to Mr. Selwyn, or about the "ample provision" which had to be made for Hermione Rivers. At least—not yet. Harvey's determinations were apt to be somewhat vague. He did not resolve never to speak, but only not to speak "at present." After all, Julia was a mere girl, unversed in business affairs. The matter rested with himself; he would wait and consider. There was space enough ahead for action—why do things in a hurry?
Perhaps Julia's loving belief in her husband's "goodness," had to do with this decision. If she knew all, she might not feel quite so convinced of his excellence. He had no wish, naturally, to lower himself in her eyes. Everybody likes to be esteemed and admired—or, as we are apt to express it, "to be appreciated."
No, he would keep the matter quiet for a while, till he should "see his way."
Somehow Marjory's face came up, pale and reproachful, and her voice seemed to mingle sadly with the busy sounds of the gay street below, quoting the words she had quoted before:—
"But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven