A pathetic earnestness in her tone and a strange look in her eyes made Christopher forget his privileges, and he made the promise.
“Thank you, dear. Now I must tell you something else,” she went on. “I must explain why I was so disturbed when Kendall Brown read those words from my diary. I must tell you what they meant.”
But a masterful gesture from Herrick stopped her. He did not wish to know anything about this. He trusted her entirely, he approved of her entirely, they must never speak of these old sad things again.
Tears of gratitude suddenly filled her eyes.
“Take this, dear, it belonged to my mother,” she said fondly and gave him a circlet of twisted dolphins and he put it on his finger. Then he gave her a brown seal ring, engraved with old Armenian characters.
“I got it in Constantinople, Pen. It's a talisman. It will bring us luck.”
They talked on, forgetful of the supper party downstairs, until a waiter came with cocktails and champagne that Roberta had sent up, but Penelope would have none of these, saying that her love was too great to need stimulation.
“I must drink to your health, dear,” said Herrick, and pouring out the bubbling liquid, he offered her a glass, but she shook her head.
“No? Not even a sip? All right, sweetheart. I'll pledge you the finest toast in the world,” he lifted his goblet. “My love! My wife!”
As Christopher set down his glass and turned to clasp his beloved in his arms, he realized that there was a curious change in her face, a subtle, an almost indistinguishable change—the sweet radiance had gone. It was the word wife that had stabbed Penelope with unforgettable memories and brought back her impulse to confess. Once more she tried to tell the story of that tragic steamboat, but Christopher firmly and good-naturedly refused to listen. Whatever she had done, her life had been a hundred times finer and nobler than his. Not that he had any great burden on his conscience, but—well—With a chivalrous idea of balancing scores, he mentioned that there had been one or two things that—er—and his embarrassment grew.