“It appears that you left rather an unsavory record behind in the Congo, and he suggested that his friends might find it necessary to see that your past was resuscitated. He spoke in a perfectly friendly way, and pretended that he had come out of consideration for myself, imagining that some of the mud which would be thrown at you might stick upon myself,” she said hurriedly.
“I see,” he answered reflectively, and then paused for a while. “Would you mind telling me how you answered him?”
“I rang for the footman, and gave orders that in future I should not be at home if he called,” she replied quietly.
Gaunt’s face lighted up wonderfully, and she blushed at the sight of the emotion that her answer had conjured up.
“That was good of you, Mildred. But you could not have acted differently. About this black record of mine on the Congo; weren’t you curious to know of what it consisted? Didn’t you ask him for particulars?”
“I was curious, I admit, but I would not lower myself by questioning him,” she answered proudly.
“And you still are curious?” he persisted.
“Yes,” the answer came reluctantly.
Their eyes met, but Gaunt quickly turned away to conceal the struggle that was taking place in his mind. Now was the opportunity of making his confession; but when he remembered its sordid nature, the words refused to come. In his imagination he could see the look of loathing that would come to her face, and suddenly he determined that at all costs she must remain in ignorance of the fact that he had killed a man, and might be charged with the crime of murder.
“I wonder if you would be content to remain in ignorance? I must admit that before I met you, I did many things that you would condemn, but I would rather that you remained in ignorance of them. Knowledge can do no good. Do I ask too much?” he said eagerly.