“Tell me what he said,” he answered her:
“I would rather not, for I have no wish to wound you unnecessarily, and what father said was not complimentary.”
“I know that. I knew he hated me, but I insist upon knowing just what he said and all he said,” Josie cried passionately, for she, who seldom lost her temper except with Agnes, was beginning to lose it now.
“If you will insist I must tell you, I suppose,” Everard said, “but remember that father’s prejudices are sometimes unfounded.”
He meant to soften it to her as much as possible, but he told her the truth, and Josie was conscious of a keener pang of mortification than she had ever felt before. She had meant to win the judge, just as she won all men when she tried, but she had failed utterly. He disliked and despised her, and if he knew she was his son’s wife he might go to any length to be rid of her, even to the attempting a divorce. Once, when sorely pressed, Agnes had suggested that idea as something which might occur to Everard, and said:
“You know that under the circumstances he could get one easily.”
Josephine knew that he could, too, but she had faith in Everard. He would not bring this publicity upon himself and her; but his father was quite another sort of person. She was afraid of him, and of what he might do if roused to action as a knowledge of the marriage would rouse him. He must not know of it at present, and though she had intended to make Everard acknowledge her as soon as he was graduated and settled at home she changed her mind suddenly, and was almost as anxious to keep the secret as Everard himself.
“I am greatly obliged to your father for his opinion of me,” she said, when she could command herself to speak. “He is the first man I ever failed to please when I really tried to do so, and I did try hard to make an impression, but it was all a waste of words; he is drier and stiffer than an old powder-horn. I don’t like your father, Everard, and I am free to say so, though, of course, I mean no blame to you. I am glad I have met him, for I understand the situation perfectly, and know just how you shrink from letting him know our secret. I hoped that you would take me home as soon as you were settled at your law studies in your father’s office, but I am convinced that to announce your marriage with me at present would be disastrous to your future; so we must wait still longer, hoping that something will turn up.”
She spoke very cheerfully, and her hand was on Everard’s, and her eyes were wearing their sweetest expression as she added:
“But you will write to me often, won’t you, and try to love me again as you did before that night, which I wish had never been for your sake, because I know you are sorry.”