"I'm nervous," said she. "I often am. You men can't understand these things, but it's better than being cross at any rate."
"Cross!" he repeated. "Be as cross and as nervous as you like, only make me the prop when you require support, and the scapegoat when you want to scold."
"You're too good," said she, her dark eyes filling again, whereat he placed himself very close and took her hand once more. "Far too good for me! I've told you so a hundred times. General, shall I confess why I was—was making such a fool of myself, and what I was thinking of when you came in?"
"If it's painful to you, I'd rather not hear it," was his answer. "I want to be associated with the sunshine of your life, Blanche, not its shade."
She shook her head.
"Whoever takes that part in my life," she replied, "must remain a good deal in the dark. That's what I was coming to. General, it is time you and I should understand each other. I feel I could tell you things I would not breathe to any other living being. You're so safe, so honourable, so punctiliously, so ridiculously honourable, and I like you for it."
He looked grateful.
"I want you to like me," said he. "Better and better every day. I'll try to deserve it."
"They say time works wonders," she answered wistfully, "and I feel I shall. I know I shall. But there are some things I must tell you now, while I have the courage. Mind, I am prepared to take all consequences. I have deceived you, General. Deceived you in a way you could never imagine nor forgive."
"So people seem to think," he observed coolly, producing, at the same time, the anonymous letter from his pocket. "I should not have troubled you with such trash, but as you have chosen to make me your father-confessor, perhaps I ought to say your grand-father confessor, this morning, you may as well look through it, before we put that precious production in the fire."