"I thought you took more interest in my affairs than to have to ask that question. I went to look for Marian Holbrook,—and I found her."
"Poor old fellow!" Mr. Saltram said gently. "And was there any satisfaction for you in the meeting?"
"Yes, and no. There was a kind of mournful pleasure in seeing the dear face once more."
"She must have been surprised to see you."
"She was, no doubt, surprised—unpleasantly, perhaps; but she received me very kindly, and was perfectly frank upon every subject except her husband. She would tell me nothing about him—neither his position in the world, nor his profession, if he has one, as I suppose he has. She owned he was not rich, and that is about all she said of him. Poor girl, I do not think she is happy!"
"What ground have you for such an idea?"
"Her face, which told me a great deal more than her words. Her beauty is very much faded since the summer evening when I first saw her in Lidford Church. She seems to lead a lonely life in the old farm-house to which her husband brought her immediately after their marriage—a life which few women would care to lead. And now, John, I want to know how it is you have kept back the truth from me in this matter; that you have treated me with a reserve which I had no right to expect from a friend."
"What have I kept from you"
"Your knowledge of this man Holbrook."
"What makes you suppose that I have any knowledge of him?"