“I did trust you—I do trust you,” he answered, with subdued impetuosity. “Can I look into your face and harbour one doubt of your goodness and truth? I trust you implicitly; it is your judgment, not your heart, that has been at fault.”
She looked up gratefully, and drew one step nearer.
“And now that you have come back, all will be right again,” she said. “Randolph, I will never speak to that man again.”
His face was stern; it wore a look she did not understand.
“I am not sure of that,” he answered, speaking with peculiar incisiveness. “It may be best that you should speak to him again.”
She looked up, bewildered.
“Randolph, why do you say that? Do you think that, after all, he has repented?”
Randolph’s face expressed an unutterable scorn. She read the meaning of that glance, and answered it as if it had been expressed in words.
“Randolph, do you believe for a moment that I would permit any one to speak ill of you to me? Am I not your wife?”