Belhaven still concerned himself with the tea things; he lifted the lid of the teapot mechanically and replaced it. "My suggestion was on your account," he said reluctantly; "it's to your interest, as well as mine, to concede something to appearances. If our real position is known, even to our friends, we'll become the target of curiosity and gossip, and the situation will soon be unendurable. Sympathy is a compound of curiosity and slander; let us avoid it."
Rachel regarded him attentively. "Do you mean that you're afraid that I'll seek sympathy? Confide my troubles to my intimates and so reveal our—our affairs?"
"Good Lord, no! I can't imagine you confiding in—in Mrs. Billop."
"I might possibly find some one beside Mrs. Billop but I don't propose to seek a confidante."
"I really meant that we must hedge ourselves in from curiosity, make some concessions to conventionality. I began by suggesting a wedding trip—"
"To Niagara?" interposed Rachel ironically.
In spite of himself he smiled. "Florida," he substituted.
"In June? Why not do a hundred inane things? I'm sorry I'm not conventional. You'll find that I crop up unexpectedly; I shall make you uncomfortable, no doubt. But, at least, I'll avoid anything outlandish. It's bad enough to be embarked together upon an enterprise of deception; let us save some shreds of truth. It's impossible to be always false; I won't pretend on a wedding journey, I won't play a part for public entertainment! I'll do my best and—" she paused, a slight, painful flush mounting in her pale cheeks again and deepening the charm of her face, "I shall always remember that I bear your name. You gave it against your will, but I accept it as a trust, and you may rest assured that I shall guard it as my own."
"I've never doubted that for a moment," he said hastily, "and believe me, I want to—I will—do the best I can to make it easy for you."
Rachel was on her way to the door; she had felt an irresistible desire to break off the interview. Her brain was reeling, she had not known an hour's rest, an hour to cry out to God for mercy. She stopped now, arrested by something she saw in his face, and held out her hand. Was he not her fellow sufferer? Was he not also shackled? Like two galley slaves their hands had been locked together.