You may think it odd, perhaps.'
Elfride tried desperately to keep the colour in her face. She
could not, though distressed to think that getting pale showed
consciousness of deeper guilt than merely getting red.
'Oh no--I shall not think that,' she said, because obliged to say
something to fill the pause which followed her questioner's
remark.
'It is this: have you ever had a lover? I am almost sure you have
not; but, have you?'
'Not, as it were, a lover; I mean, not worth mentioning, Harry,'
she faltered.
Knight, overstrained in sentiment as he knew the feeling to be,
felt some sickness of heart.
'Still, he was a lover?'
'Well, a sort of lover, I suppose,' she responded tardily.
'A man, I mean, you know.'
'Yes; but only a mere person, and----'
'But truly your lover?'
'Yes; a lover certainly--he was that. Yes, he might have been
called my lover.'
Knight said nothing to this for a minute or more, and kept silent
time with his finger to the tick of the old library clock, in
which room the colloquy was going on.
'You don't mind, Harry, do you?' she said anxiously, nestling
close to him, and watching his face.
'Of course, I don't seriously mind. In reason, a man cannot
object to such a trifle. I only thought you hadn't--that was
all.'
However, one ray was abstracted from the glory about her head.
But afterwards, when Knight was wandering by himself over the bare
and breezy hills, and meditating on the subject, that ray suddenly
returned.
Pages:
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411