Pelham stood up.
“You really wish me to say nothing more about my suspicions?”
“I won’t listen—there’s nothing in them. We will marry and I will make you happy—so happy, Dick, that you will forget your nervous terrors.”
“You tempt me, Barbara.”
“Say yes, then, my darling. Surely you won’t refuse?”
“Not I. I long for you. I do believe you are the only one who can put me right, and your feeling that there is nothing in it gives me a momentary sensation of comfort, but remember I have not told you why I suspect.”
“You shall some day—when we are married, but not now. You are prejudiced; you hate Dr. Tarbot—surely not more than I hate him—but that he should stoop to such a horrible crime—no, Dick, no. Turn your thought away from it. It is wrong.”
“When shall we be married?” he asked.
“Whenever you like—next week, the week after, whenever you please.”
“The sooner the better,” answered Pelham.