She considered, and, if the fact was disconcerting to her, effectually concealed it. The next minute indeed she had recovered. “No, he wouldn’t. But do you need that?”
Her emphasis was wonderful, and though his eyes had been wandering he looked at her longer now. “I see what you mean.”
“Of course you see what I mean.”
Her triumph was gentle, and she really had tones to make justice weep. “I’ve before me what he owes you.”
“Admit then that that’s something,” she said, yet still with the same discretion in her pride.
He took in this note but went straight on. “You’ve made of him what I see, but what I don’t see is how in the world you’ve done it.”
“Ah that’s another question!” she smiled. “The point is of what use is your declining to know me when to know Mr. Newsome—as you do me the honour to find him—is just to know me.”
“I see,” he mused, still with his eyes on her. “I shouldn’t have met you to-night.”
She raised and dropped her linked hands. “It doesn’t matter. If I trust you why can’t you a little trust me too? And why can’t you also,” she asked in another tone, “trust yourself?” But she gave him no time to reply. “Oh I shall be so easy for you! And I’m glad at any rate you’ve seen my child.”
“I’m glad too,” he said; “but she does you no good.”