It was a happy half-hour that the couple spent there on the settee caressing each other; it was the old days come again—days that had begun with their courtship and lasted without a break till the stranger brought the deadly money. By-and-by the wife said:
“Oh, Edward, how lucky it was you did him that grand service, poor Goodson! I never liked him, but I love him now. And it was fine and beautiful of you never to mention it or brag about it.” Then, with a touch of reproach, “But you ought to have told me, Edward, you ought to have told your wife, you know.”
“Well, I—er—well, Mary, you see—”
“Now stop hemming and hawing, and tell me about it, Edward. I always loved you, and now I’m proud of you. Everybody believes there was only one good generous soul in this village, and now it turns out that you—Edward, why don’t you tell me?”
“Well—er—er—Why, Mary, I can’t!”
“You can’t? Why can’t you?”
“You see, he—well, he—he made me promise I wouldn’t.”
The wife looked him over, and said, very slowly:
“Made—you—promise? Edward, what do you tell me that for?”
“Mary, do you think I would lie?”