“They won’t,” he replied calmly. “They’re not watching Mrs. Bracebridge’s affairs. Plenty of mistresses take their maids on long trips. Why not simply tell them you’re invited to go—have to go—and then go?”
“Do you think I could?” she inquired.
“Certainly,” he replied. “What is there peculiar about that?”
She thought it over, and the plan did seem feasible. Then she looked at this man and realized that relationship with him meant possible motherhood for her again. The tragedy of giving birth to a child—ah, she could not go through that a second time, at least under the same conditions. She could not bring herself to tell him about Vesta, but she must voice this insurmountable objection.
“I—” she said, formulating the first word of her sentence, and then stopping.
“Yes,” he said. “I—what?”
“I—” She paused again.
He loved her shy ways, her sweet, hesitating lips.
“What is it, Jennie?” he asked helpfully. “You’re so delicious. Can’t you tell me?”
Her hand was on the table. He reached over and laid his strong brown one on top of it.