“Have I?” he said, half mournfully.
“Then tell it to me.”
“Nay. I always thought it was wisest, kindest, for a man to bear the burden of his own cares.”
Nathanael had spoken in his most gentle tone, and slowly, as if impelled to what he said by hard necessity. He was not prepared to see the sudden childish burst of astonishment, anger, and resistance.
“From this, I understand, what you might as well have said plainly, that I am not to inquire what passed between you and your brother?”
He moved his head in assent, and then sunk it on his left hand, holding out the other to his wife, as though talking were impossible to him, and all he wished were silence and peace. Agatha was too angry for either.
“But if I do not choose at nineteen to be treated like a mere child—if I ask, nay, insist”—She hesitated, lest the last word might have irritated him too far. Vague fears concerning the full meaning of the word “obey” in the marriage service rushed into her mind.
Nathanael sat motionless, his fingers pressed upon his eyelids. This silence was worse than any words.
“Mr. Harper!”
“I hear.” And the grave, sad eyes—and without any displeasure—were turned upon her. Agatha felt a sting of conscience.