After a second she went on again and presently they entered the dining-room. The confusion of rustling skirts and sliding chairs quite covered their speech for a moment and made them seem almost alone. Her hand had been resting on his arm and now she drew it out, looking up at him again as she did so. Her eyes had a premonitory mist over them. 

 “For Heaven’s sake,” she said very earnestly, “tell me what he said?” 

 He was silent. 

 “Tell me,” she pleaded. 

 He was still silent. 

 “Tell me,” she said imperiously. 

 He continued silent. They sat down. 

 “Mr. Denham,” she said, as she took up her napkin, and her voice grew very low, and yet he heard, “I don’t think that we can pretend to be joking any longer. You are my brother’s friend, and I am a married woman. Please treat me as you should.” 

 “That’s just it,” said Jack; “that’s all there is to it. It wouldn’t have amounted to anything except for that—or perhaps, if it hadn’t been for that, it might have amounted to a great deal.” 

 “If it hadn’t been for what?” 

 “For your being married.” 

 She quite started in her seat. 

 “What do you mean?” 

 “You see I never knew it before.” 

 “You never knew what before?” 

 “That you were married.” 

 “Until when?” 

 “Until after you went out of the room to-night.” 

 The men were putting the clams around. She seemed to reflect. And then she peppered and salted them before she spoke. 

 Prev. P 23/184 next