“Do you know,” continued he, smiling, though still not looking quite satisfied, “that I imagined it was something concerning that ring that Cooper sports?”
Emma felt again that she was treading on ice, that might give way the next instant, and that denial was unsafe, so she answered boldly,
“You are right again. And, upon the whole, I don’t know why I should not tell you the truth just as it is. I do not suppose Ellen will care about your knowing it, particularly as you, of course, will not repeat it. She gave him that ring, and wanted me to get it back for her.”
“Why did she not ask for it herself?” he said, somewhat sternly.
“She was afraid of her mother’s knowing it,” replied Emma. “You know what a prim, particular old lady Mrs. Pearsall is.”
“Foolish girl,” he said, contemptuously, “and worse than foolish, to be deceiving those she should most trust.”
Emma felt her heart die within her; but there was no help for her—so she agreed to all his animadversions on Miss Pearsall, and only said,
“Yes, so she is; but say nothing about it. Make no allusion to her, or to any one else.”
“Of course not,” he replied; and the subject dropped.
To Emma’s great relief she heard, a few days afterward, that Mr. Cooper was going to Europe very soon. Expected to sail, indeed, in the course of a fortnight.