“Eustace, your mother said yesterday that you noticed a change in me when I came back from my drive. Is she right?”
“Quite right, Valeria,” he answered—speaking in lower tones than usual, and not looking at me.
“We have no concealments from each other now,” I answered. “I ought to tell you, and do tell you, that I found a letter from England waiting at the banker’s which has caused me some agitation and alarm. Will you leave it to me to choose my own time for speaking more plainly? And will you believe, love, that I am really doing my duty toward you, as a good wife, in making this request?”
I paused. He made no answer: I could see that he was secretly struggling with himself. Had I ventured too far? Had I overestimated the strength of my influence? My heart beat fast, my voice faltered—but I summoned courage enough to take his hand, and to make a last appeal to him. “Eustace,” I said; “don’t you know me yet well enough to trust me?”
He turned toward me for the first time. I saw a last vanishing trace of doubt in his eyes as they looked into mine.
“You promise, sooner or later, to tell me the whole truth?” he said
“I promise with all my heart!”
“I trust you, Valeria!”
His brightening eyes told me that he really meant what he said. We sealed our compact with a kiss. Pardon me for mentioning these trifles—I am still writing (if you will kindly remember it) of our new honeymoon.
By that day’s post I answered Benjamin’s letter, telling him what I had done, and entreating him, if he and Mr. Playmore approved of my conduct, to keep me informed of any future discoveries which they might make at Gleninch.