“I'm glad of it, child,” was the calm reply. “I don't like to praise people to their faces, but you always had a sweet, winning way. I am glad that other people are good to you.” She waited again for the explanation, not dreaming that it had been given.
Bessie Maynard drew a breath, like one who plunges into water. “There's some one who thinks me worth watching and sympathizing with, if John doesn't,” she said.
“You don't mean a man!” exclaimed Aunt Nancy.
“Of course I do,” answered Bessie almost pettishly.
The words were scarcely out of her mouth, before she was flung back on to the pillow by the arms that had held her so tenderly, and Aunt Nancy stood erect by the bedside. “Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Bessie Maynard?” she cried out indignantly.
“No, I am not!” was the dogged answer. “I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
The flash of the old woman's eyes could be seen in the dim light. “What! you, a married woman, not ashamed to let a man who is not your husband talk love to you!”
“He never spoke a word of love to me,” said Bessie, still sulky.
Aunt Nancy was utterly puzzled. “How do you know, then?” she asked.
Neither by nature nor education was this woman fitted to understand that subtile manner by which impressions and assurances are conveyed without a word having been spoken. A man would have been obliged to use plain language indeed, if he would have had her, a wife, understand that he loved her.