“Beloved, I am sure.”
“Wait. You haven’t forgotten what you promised me?”
“What was that?”
“You have forgotten! Oh, but you must never forget it. It is important—to me.”
“Tell me again.”
“It was—always to ask me before you believe anything against me. That was it—and you promised.” He took her face between his hands and looked long into her eyes.
“My dearest heart,” he said, “I’ll promise you better. Not only shall I never believe anything against you—but I shall never even ask you of the fact. Never, never.”
She searched his face—her eyes wandered over it, doubting, judging, considering.
“I had rather you asked me,” she told him; but his answer was to kiss her lips.
She went with him to the garden gate, seemed most unwilling that he should go. Farewells spoken, her ring-hand kissed, she stood watching him down the terrace, and then, as he never looked back, walked slowly into the house and shut the door. Had she stayed a moment longer she would have seen an encounter he had at the corner where you turn up for the station. Perhaps it was better as it was; I don’t know. He had paused there to hail a fly with his umbrella, and having faced round towards his way, saw Duplessis advancing towards him. He felt himself turn cold and sick. The fly drew up. “Wait for me where you are,” he said, and went to meet the young man. Duplessis saw him on a sudden; his eyes, blue by nature, grew steely and intensely narrow.