"You do not want your brother to come," he said. "Is it not a little because you are ashamed—of the way we live?"
Nora met his eyes steadily, but for a moment she was silent, deep in her own thoughts. She was trying to find out exactly why a weight had fallen upon her mind, why the atmosphere in the little room had become close and stifling. Was it really shame, or was it something else—a foreboding of resulting evil, too vague to be defined in words?
"I want an answer, Nora," Wolff continued firmly. "The thought that you might be hiding the truth from your people out of loyalty towards me is intensely painful. Heaven knows, I would bring every possible sacrifice——"
"Hush!" Nora interrupted, and there was a curious note of sternness in her young voice. "I hate to hear you talk like that. It sounds as though I had brought some sacrifice, or had lowered myself to become your wife. I married you, Wolff, because I loved you, and because I knew that you were the only man with whom I could be happy. You have given me everything my most sanguine hopes could ask of life. That is the truth. What more can I say?"
He bent and kissed her.
"Thank you, dear," he said. "Then I may write to your father?"
"Yes—of course. I shall miss our quiet evenings alone, Wolff; but if you think it right——"
"I think there is nothing else for us to do," her husband answered. "After all, I do not expect it will be for long. We must not be selfish, dearest."
Nora smiled cheerfully; but for the first time in her married life the cheerfulness was forced. She could not shake off the feeling that a change had come, and one which was to bring no good with it.
CHAPTER III