'I don't quite see that—for my part, I don't think anything strange in a woman. Rachel has been talking the rankest nonsense, in the most unreasonable temper conceivable; and because she can't persuade me to accept her views of what is Christian and sensible, she threatens to go mad—I think that is her phrase.'
'I don't think Rachel is a fool,' said Dorcas, quietly, her eye still upon Stanley.
'Neither do I—when she pleases to exert her good sense—but she can, when she pleases, both talk and act like a fool.'
'And pray, what does she want you to do, Stanley?'
'The merest nonsense.'
'But what is it?'
'I really can hardly undertake to say I very well understand it myself, and I have half-a-dozen letters to write; and really if I were to stay here and try to explain, I very much doubt whether I could. Why don't you ask her? If she has any clear ideas on the subject I don't see why she should not tell you. For my part, I doubt if she understands herself—I certainly don't.'
Dorcas smiled bitterly.
'Mystery already—mystery from the first. I am to know nothing of your secrets. You confer and consult in my house—you debate and decide upon matters most nearly concerning, for aught I know, my interests and my happiness—certainly deeply affecting you, and therefore which I have a right to know; and my entering the room is the signal for silence—a guilty silence—for departure and for equivocation. Stanley, you are isolating me. Beware—I may entrench myself in that isolation. You are choosing your confidant, and excluding me; rest assured you shall have no confidence of mine while you do so.'
Stanley Lake looked at her with a gaze at once peevish and inquisitive.