"He said that if,—if I would,—would—oh, what am I saying!" She broke off with a little gasp, as if she had almost betrayed a secret. But I knew.
"He said he would give it to you, and more too, if you would marry Mr. Leroy, didn't he?"
"Yes," Janet replied, and this time she spoke in a simple, natural voice and looked at me frankly.
"But, as you wanted the money to give to Mr. Leroy, and didn't want to marry him, your uncle's proposition didn't please you?"
Janet looked at me in a bewildered way. "Yes," she stammered, "yes,—that was it."
But I was learning my girl at last. For some reason she was telling a string of falsehoods! My faith in her made me believe that she was doing this for some definite and, to her, justifiable purpose. And yet, though my suggestion about Leroy seemed to me to be in line with her plans, and though she had said yes to it,—yet I knew it was not the truth. My rapidly increasing love for her gave me an insight into her nature, and though I might not be able to persuade her to tell me the truth, yet I could discern when she spoke truly and when falsely.
"I give it up," I said to her, suddenly adopting a lighter tone; "I can do nothing with you tonight in our relations of client and lawyer. Let us drop the whole dreadful subject for the rest of this evening, and let us pretend that we are just good friends, with no troublesome questions between us.
"Yes," agreed Janet, with a smile of delight, "let us do that; but anyway, I don't see why the troublesome questions that come between us as lawyer and client, should interfere with our friendship."
"Nor do I, bless you!" I exclaimed, and with a lightened heart I put aside my burden of doubt and fear for the present. And soon Laura came back, and we all chatted pleasantly, without reference to anything gruesome or dreadful.