On the Sunday, after service, she knocked at his door, and, being admitted, bade him good morning, but with no very gracious air—as, indeed, he would have been the last to expect.
"We have had a sermon on the forgiveness of injuries, Mr. Redmain," she said.
"By Jove!" interrupted her husband, "it would have been more to the purpose if I, or poor Mary Marston, had had it; for I swear you put our souls in peril!"
"The ring was no common one, Mr. Redmain; and the young woman had, by leaving the house, placed herself in a false position: every one suspected her as much as I did. Besides, she lost her temper, and talked about forgiving me , when I was in despair about my ring!"
"And what, pray, was your foolish ring compared to the girl's character?"
"A foolish ring, indeed!—Yes, it was foolish to let you ever have the right to give it me! But, as to her character, that of persons in her position is in constant peril. They have to lay their account with that, and must get used to it. How was I to know? We can not read each other's hearts."
"Not where there is no heart in the reader."
Hesper's face flushed, but she did her best not to lose her temper. Not that it would have been any great loss if she had, for there is as much difference in the values of tempers as in those who lose them. She said nothing, and her husband resumed:
"So you came to forgive me?" he said.
"And Marston," she answered.