“Parties!” he said. “You and I are too old friends to waste our life in chattering about such London nonsense.”
“Then we’ll talk of yesterday,” said Lady Enid, very firmly.
The Prophet looked rather blank.
“Yes,” she repeated. “Yesterday. I’ve guessed your secret.”
“Which one?” he cried, much startled.
“Which?” she said reproachfully. “Oh, Mr. Vivian—and I thought you trusted in me.”
The Prophet was silent. The third daughter of the clergyman had often made that remark to him when they were nearly engaged. It recalled bygone memories.
“That’s what I thought,” she added with pressure.
“I’m sorry,” the Prophet murmured, rather obstinately.
“I always think,” she continued, with deliberate expansiveness, “that nearly all the miseries of the world come about from people not trusting in—in people.”