“You are very clever,” he said.
“I thought it all out for your sake. I was so anxious that no disgrace should touch you,” she answered humbly.
“Poor little one!” he muttered; then rose and laid his hand solemnly on her head. “Dear, you have been bitterly punished for your girlish fault,” he said gravely; then, in tones vibrating with tenderness, he added: “You are my beloved wife still. I forgive your deception, and I will never forsake you.”
CHAPTER XXXIV.
IMAGINARY DECEIT.
“Rosalind, what do you think of this?” asked Juliette, coming up to her friend with an open letter in her hand.
It was the second day after her arrival at the White Sulphur Springs, and they were out on the lawn before the grand hotel. All was brightness and gayety. Throngs of beautiful women and handsome men lent variety to the sylvan scene, and the merry music played by the band made one’s step light and one’s heart gay.
“What is it, Juliette?” asked Miss Wylde curiously.
“A letter from my uncle, in which he explains the cause of his wife not joining us here.”
“Is she not coming, then?” asked Mrs. Wylde, in a tone of regret.
“No.”