“I did not marry you for all this, Lucy,” observed Charlie, looking earnestly at her.
She knew what he meant. But she lightly turned aside the pathos of his words.
“I don’t believe you thought I had it in me,” she said. “There isn’t very much in me, perhaps—just enough to hold out for a little while till my husband comes back, robust and strong.”
“You must have been thinking over this for some time, Lucy?” he remarked.
“For a few days,” she answered. “And to know myself laying little plans and setting little traps, with you so innocent of them, has made me feel quite guilty of keeping a secret.”
“Poor little girl!” said Charlie, “and I too had my secret. At least your secret has turned something into a secret, by investing a trifle, which I did not mention to you, with a significance it did not have before. If you had not told your secret, you would never have heard mine!”
They paused in their talk, for Pollie came into the room to remove the tea-things.
“Did you tell her anything of your plans?” asked Charlie, motioning his head towards the door as the maid closed it behind her.
“Certainly not,” Lucy answered. “Is it likely I would tell her of my schemes before you heard them? What makes you ask such a question?”
“Because she looks so solemn and constrained,” he answered, “as people do when they know something important is in the air.”