'To thine own self be true,
And it shall follow, as the day the night,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.'"
As she spoke a servant brought a note to her, and I noticed her cheeks grow pale as she saw the handwriting upon it. She broke it open, and read it hastily, an oddly troubled, worried look coming over her face, a look that Earlscourt could not help but notice as he stood beside her.
"Is there anything in that letter to annoy you, Beatrice?" he asked, very naturally.
She started—rather guiltily, I thought—and crushed the note in her hand.
"Whom is it from? It troubles you, I think. Tell me, my darling, is it anything that vexes or offends you?" he whispered, bending down to her.
She laughed, a little nervously for her, and tore the note into tiny pieces.
"Why do you not tell me, Beatrice?" he said again, with a shade of annoyance on his face.
"Because I would rather not," she said, frankly enough, letting the pieces float out of the window into the street below. The shadow grew darker in his face; he bent his head in acquiescence, and said no more, but I don't think he forgot either the note or her destroyal of it.
"I thought there was implicit confidence before marriage whatever there is after," sneered his sister, as she passed him. He answered her calmly:—
"I should say, Helena, that neither before nor after marriage would any man who respected his wife suffer curiosity or suspicion to enter into him. If he do, he has no right to expect happiness, and he will certainly not go the way to get it."