“But that was very bad for your work.” She shook her head at him playfully.
“My work is always at a standstill without you.”
She looked at him affectionately. “Do you know, I can’t help being glad of that! It does show, I think, that your work is a bond between us in the highest and best sense.”
He assented absently. “Cecily read me your letter,” he added after a moment’s pause.
She waited for him to comment upon it. “Was it right?” she asked at length, when he was silent. “I kept strictly to the truth. I hate anything that’s not absolutely sincere.”
“Yes,” he replied, dubiously. “It was the truth, of course, but it gave her a wrong impression. She thinks we only met at Lady Wilmot’s.”
“Isn’t that what you intended?” There was a momentary ring of sharpness in her voice.
“Yes,” he returned, uncertainly again. “Yes, I suppose so.” His face clouded for an instant. When he again sought her eyes, she was smiling indulgently.
“Fergus,” she said, “don’t you understand? If women were all fine and noble enough there would be no occasion to withhold anything. We could be quite frank about our friendships, knowing that they would not be misconstrued. But as it is——” She paused.
“Well?”