“Very few are intimate enough to guess, and those who are, know you too well to think it was otherwise than very foolish on his part.”
“I don’t know,” said Fanny, “I think I must have been foolish too, or he never could have thought of it. And I was so sorry for him, he seemed so much distressed.”
“I do not wonder at that, when he had once allowed himself to admit the thought.”
“Yes, that is the thing. I am afraid I can’t be what I ought to be, or people would never think of such nonsense,” said Fanny, with large tears welling into her eyes. “I can’t be guarding that dear memory as I ought, to have two such things happening so soon.”
“Perhaps they have made you cherish it all the more.”
“As if I wanted that! Please will you tell me how I could have been more guarded. I don’t mind your knowing about this; indeed you ought, for Sir Stephen trusted me to you, but I can’t ask my aunt or any one else. I can’t talk about it, and I would not have them know that Sir Stephen’s wife can’t get his memory more respected.”
She did not speak with anger as the first time, but with most touching sadness.
“I don’t think any one could answer,” he said.
“I did take my aunt’s advice about the officers being here. I have not had them nearly as much as Bessie would have liked, not even Alick. I have been sorry it was so dull for her, but I thought it could not be wrong to be intimate with one’s clergyman, and Rachel was always so hard upon him.”
“You did nothing but what was kind and right. The only possible thing that could have been wished otherwise was the making a regular habit of his playing croquet here.”