“I confess I do. He was noble, at least, in refusing to let a third party tell him. If he wished any information he should have asked the lady himself.”
“Yes, but supposing she refused to answer him?”
“Then, I think he should either have declined to have anything more to do with her, or, if he kept up his acquaintance, he should have taken her just as she was, without any reference to her past.”
“I suppose you are right. Still, it is a very serious thing for two people to marry without knowing something of each other’s lives.”
“I am tired of walking,” said Miss Earle, “I am now going to seek comfort in the luxuriousness, as you call it, of my steamer chair.”
“And may I go with you?” asked the young man.
“If you also are tired of walking.”
“You know,” he said, “you promised the whole afternoon. You took the forenoon with The Siege, and now I don’t wish to be cheated out of my half of the day.”
“Very well, I am rather interested in another story, and if you will take The Siege of London, and read it, you’ll find how much better the book is than my telling of the story.”
George Morris had, of course, to content himself with this proposition, and they walked together to the steamer chairs, over which the gaily coloured rugs were spread.