And yet there was a stern story to relate, and Sidney had escorted Harriet Wesden home, believing in the darkness rather than the light upon his way. He went forth regarding life literally, and he found himself, after awhile, in the land of romance, wherein sober existence had no dwelling-place.
Let him tell the story in his own way.
Harriet and Sidney had not proceeded a long distance together before he began.
"I think that I must have puzzled you very much, Harriet, by this evening's behaviour—by the way in which I received your kindness—more than kindness. There was a reason, and I am going to explain it."
"Is it worth explanation?" asked Harriet.
"I think so—you shall judge. It is an explanation that I cannot give my father, for it would break his heart, I think, with the long suspense which would follow it."
"So serious an explanation as that, Sidney?"
"Yes. Is it not odd that, with my character for straightforwardness, I should have been all my life keeping back the truth?"
"From him—for his sake, only, Sidney?"
"Perhaps for my own—to save myself from a host of inquisitive questions, and an attention that would irritate rather than soothe—I am a very selfish man."