“You are too kind, Bella, and I often think I’ll go away to relieve you of my presence; but unwise and dangerous as it is to stay, I haven’t the courage to go. I’ve been so happy here.” And as she spoke, Jean’s head dropped lower over the dog as it nestled to her affectionately.
Before Bella could utter half the loving words that sprang to her lips, Coventry came to them with all languor gone from face and mien, and laying Jean’s letter before her, he said, with an undertone of deep feeling in his usually emotionless voice, “A right womanly and eloquent letter, but I fear it will only increase the fire it was meant to quench. I pity my brother more than ever now.”
“Shall I send it?” asked Jean, looking straight up at him, like one who had entire reliance on his judgment.
“Yes, I have not the heart to rob him of such a sweet sermon upon self-sacrifice. Shall I post it for you?”
“Thank you; in a moment.” And with a grateful look, Jean dropped her eyes. Producing her little purse, she selected a penny, folded it in a bit of paper, and then offered both letter and coin to Coventry, with such a pretty air of business, that he could not control a laugh.
“So you won’t be indebted to me for a penny? What a proud woman you are, Miss Muir.”
“I am; it’s a family failing.” And she gave him a significant glance, which recalled to him the memory of who she was. He understood her feeling, and liked her the better for it, knowing that he would have done the same had he been in her place. It was a little thing, but if done for effect, it answered admirably, for it showed a quick insight into his character on her part, and betrayed to him the existence of a pride in which he sympathized heartily. He stood by Jean a moment, watching her as she burnt Edward’s letter in the blaze of the spirit lamp under the urn.
“Why do you do that?” he asked involuntarily.
“Because it is my duty to forget” was all her answer.
“Can you always forget when it becomes a duty?”