Indeed the sum seemed to her an inconsiderable trifle beside the certainty of Owen's praise, of Owen's entire satisfaction.
For a clear three minutes Evelyn Desmond sat silent, irresolute; her mind a formless whirl of eagerness and uncertainty, hope and fear. The novelty of the transaction rather than any glimmering of the complications it might engender held her trembling on the brink; and Miss Kresney awaited her decision with downcast eyes, her fingers mechanically plaiting and unplaiting the silken fringe of the table-cloth.
Sounds crept in from without and peopled the waiting stillness. Evelyn Desmond had no faintest forewarning of the grave issues that hung upon her answer, yet she was unaccountably afraid. Her driven heart cried out for the support of her husband's presence; and her voice, when words came at last, was pitifully unsteady.
"It is so difficult not to say Yes."
"Why will you not say it, then? And it would all be comfortably settled."
"Would it? I don't seem able to believe that. Only if I do say Yes, you must promise not to tell—your brother."
"I am afraid that would not be possible. How could I arrange such a thing without letting my brother know about it?"
"Then I can't take the money."
Evelyn's voice was desperate but determined. Some spark of intuition enabled her to see that any intrusion of Kresney set the matter beyond the pale of possible things; and nothing remained for Linda but compromise or retreat.
She unhesitatingly chose the former. A few reassuring words would cost little to utter; and if circumstances should demand a convenient forgetfulness, none but herself need ever be aware of the fact. She leaned across the table, and her tone was a triumph of open-hearted sympathy.