When she had finished, a long silence ensued. Not that Stair was in any doubt as to what form his advice should take—idealist that he was, there did not seem to him to be any question in the matter. He only hesitated as to how he could best word his counsel.
At last he spoke, very gently, his eyes lit with that inner radiance which gave such an arresting charm of expression to his face.
"My dear," he said, "it seems to me that if you love him you needs must trust him. 'Perfect love casteth out fear.'"
Diana shook her head.
"Mightn't you reverse that, Pobs, and say that he would trust me—if he loves me?"
"No, not necessarily." Alan sucked at his pipe. "He knows what his secret is, and whether it is right or wrong for you to share it. You haven't that knowledge. And that's where your trust must come in. You have to believe in him enough to leave it to him to decide whether you ought to be told or not. Have you no confidence in his judgment?"
"I don't think husbands and wives should have secrets from one another," protested Diana obstinately.
"Does he propose to have any other than this one?"
"No."
"Then I don't see that you need complain. The present and the future are yours, but you've no right to demand the past as well. And this secret, whatever it may be, belongs to the past."