"Ah, well; I expected you wouldn't speak," she answered, with subdued bitterness; as much as to say, that she made a merit of resigning herself to an injustice she could not help. "You have been keeping things from me a long time."
"I have kept nothing from you it would give you pleasure to know. It is not—Maude, pray hear me—it is not always expedient for a man to make known to his wife the jars and rubs he has himself to encounter. A hundred trifles may arise that are best spared to her. That gentleman's business concerned others as well as myself, and I am not at liberty to speak of it."
"You refuse, then, to admit me to your confidence?"
"In this I do. I am the best judge—and you must allow me to be so—of what ought, and what ought not, to be spoken of to you. You may always rely upon my acting for your best happiness, as far as lies in my power."
He had been pacing the room whilst he spoke. Lady Hartledon was in too resentful a mood to answer. Glancing at her, he stood by the mantelpiece and leaned his elbow upon it.
"I want to make known to you another matter, Maude. If I have kept it from you—"
"Does it concern this secret business of yours?" she interrupted.
"No."
"Then let us have done with this first, if you please. Who is Gorton?"
"Who is—Gorton?" he repeated, after a dumbfounded pause. "What Gorton?"