‘Yes,’ said Jonathan, ‘they’ve asked me. It’s the first time such a thing has happened, and my text is not going to be the repentant Prodigal, either. I haven’t changed. We shall just go on where we left off.’
‘That’s why I’m asking—what you call yourself. Do you still reckon yourself a True Believer?’
‘I reckon that what I believe is true; but I do not regard myself as a True Believer in the technical sense. I don’t think I ever was. A Relative Believer, Davidina, is what I am.’
‘It’s a pity,’ said Davidina, ‘in a way. Uncle Phineas left me a letter of instruction—not legal; but still I take it as binding. If you had remained a True Believer till now, I was to go shares with you.’
Mr. Trimblerigg had long since, in his own mind, got the better of Uncle Phineas and his £200 a year. But now he saw his chance of getting the better of Davidina. So he said quietly: ‘I know that, he told me.’
Davidina stared. ‘What did he tell you?’
‘He showed me the letter,’ said Jonathan.
‘And you never said anything!’ cried Davidina, astonished.
‘Well, I did say something in a way. I mentioned the letter to you once; but as you chose to say nothing about it, I left it at that.’
‘And you trusted me?’ inquired Davidina.