“I did not think,” said Winnie, raising her head with a flush of anger, “that you would have been the one to make it all worse.”
He smiled upon her, still holding her closely by the arm. “Did you think I had not thought of that before now? Of course, from his point of view, and, of course, from all points of view except our own, Winnie”—
“I am glad you make that exception.”
“It is very magnanimous of me to do so, and you will have to be all the more good to me. I am not blind, and I have seen it all coming, from the moment of Tom’s failure. Why was he so silly as to fail, when a hundred boobies get through every year?”
“Poor Tom!” she said, with a little gush of tears.
“Yes; poor Tom! I suppose he never for a moment thought—But, for my part, I have seen it coming. I have seen for a long time what way the tide was turning. At first there was not much thought of you; you were only the little girl in the house. If it had not been so, I should have run away, I should not have run my head into the net, and exposed myself to certain contempt and rejection. But I saw that nobody knew there was in the house an angel unawares.”
“Edward, you make me ashamed! You know how far I am”—
“From being an angel? I hope so, Winnie. If I saw the wings budding, I should get out my instruments and clip them: it would be a novel sort of an operation. I thought their ignorance was my opportunity.”
She was partly mollified, partly alarmed. “You did not think all this before you let yourself—care for me, Edward?”
“I did before I allowed myself to tell you that I—cared for you, as you say. One does not do such a thing without thinking. There was a time when I thought that I must give up the splendid practice of Bedloe, with Shippington into the bargain; the rich appointment of parish doctor, the fat fees of the Union”—