“My dear Esther,” said my guardian, “I have long had something in my thoughts that I have wished to say to you.”
“Indeed?”
“I have had some difficulty in approaching it, and I still have. I should wish it to be so deliberately said, and so deliberately considered. Would you object to my writing it?”
“Dear guardian, how could I object to your writing anything for ME to read?”
“Then see, my love,” said he with his cheery smile, “am I at this moment quite as plain and easy—do I seem as open, as honest and old-fashioned—as I am at any time?”
I answered in all earnestness, “Quite.” With the strictest truth, for his momentary hesitation was gone (it had not lasted a minute), and his fine, sensible, cordial, sterling manner was restored.
“Do I look as if I suppressed anything, meant anything but what I said, had any reservation at all, no matter what?” said he with his bright clear eyes on mine.
I answered, most assuredly he did not.
“Can you fully trust me, and thoroughly rely on what I profess, Esther?”
“Most thoroughly,” said I with my whole heart.