"It can be very little use to him. One likes sometimes to have a little remembrance of those—of people—one has known; he would not mind my keeping it, I think. Tell him—tell him I asked for it." The tears were very near her voice; she could scarcely keep them back out of her eyes.
John Kynaston dropped his hand, and Vera slipped the little case quickly into her pocket.
"Would you mind walking a little way with me, Vera?" he said, gently and very gravely.
She drew down her veil, and went with him in silence. They had walked half-way down Wilton Crescent before he spoke to her again; then he turned towards her, and looked at her earnestly and sadly.
"Why did you go back again into the church, Vera?"
"I wanted to think quietly a little," she murmured. There was another pause.
"So that is what parted us!" he exclaimed, with a sudden bitterness, at length.
She looked up, startled and pale.
"What do you mean?" she stammered.
"Oh, child! I see it all now. How blind I have been. Ah, why did you not trust me, love? Why did you fear to tell me your secret? Do you not think that I, who would have laid down my life for you to make you happy, do you not suppose I would have striven to make your path smooth for you?"