And her crimson cheek, her quick wild step across the room, showed a new picture to the husband's eyes—a picture that all young wives should be slow to let any man see, for it is often a fatal vision.
Nathanael closed his eyes—was it to shut it out?—then spoke, steadily, sorrowfully:
“We have scarcely been married a month. Are we beginning to be angry with one another already?”
She made him no answer.
“Will you listen to me—if for only two minutes?”
She felt his step approaching, his hand fastening on hers, and replacing her in her chair. Resistance was impossible.
“Agatha, had I trusted you less than I do, I might easily have put off your questions, or told you what was false. I shall do neither. I shall tell you truth.”
“That is all I wish.”
Nathanael said, with a visible effort, “To-day I learnt from my brother several rather painful circumstances—some which I was ignorant of—one”—his voice grew cold and hard—“one which I already knew, and knew to be irremediable.”
His wife looked much alarmed; seeing it, he forced a smile.