The door closed behind him before Frank Dennis, always slow of speech, could form his reply; but he gave Margaret the benefit of it.
‘I never told your uncle,’ he said in a grave pained voice, ‘that I believed the note of hand to be genuine.’
‘What does it matter?’ exclaimed Margaret reproachfully. ‘I cannot tell you how these miserable disagreements distress me; of themselves, indeed, they are of no consequence, but they irritate my uncle, and have a still worse effect, Frank, upon you. I can ascribe it to no other cause, indeed, that you have almost entirely ceased to visit us.’
This was not quite true; moreover, it was a dangerous assertion to make, likely to draw upon her the very reproach she had always feared, and which she felt was not undeserved. She trembled lest he should reply, ‘No, that was not the reason; it is because you have preferred William Henry’s love to mine.’
It was to her relief, therefore, though also to her great surprise, that he answered in his habitual quiet tone, ‘Perhaps it is, Margaret.’
She did not believe it was, and was convinced that in saving so he had laid a burthen upon his conscience for her sake. His nature, she well knew, was so honest and simple that it shrank from even an evasion of the truth, and the very fact of his having thus evaded it to spare her showed her the depth of his affection. If he, then, still loved her, was it not cruel, she reflected, to ask him to her home to witness her happiness with another? She would miss his company, for that was always pleasant to her as that of a tender and faithful friend; but was it not selfish of her to invite it? It was obvious that he came unwillingly, and only in obedience to her behest. If she ceased to importune him he would certainly cease to come, but she would not lose his friendship. When—that is, if—Willie and she were married, it would be different with him; he would then come and see them as the friend of both.
‘Of course it’s very unfortunate,’ she stammered, with her eyes fixed on the ground, ‘but since my uncle is so thin-skinned about these manuscripts, and you, as he says, are so dreadfully sceptical, it would perhaps be better—until the whole affair has subsided——’