Gwendoline
knew in her own heart she ought to go at once; her own dignity
demanded it, and she should consult her dignity. But still, she
couldn't help longing to know what Nevitt's half-hints and innuendoes
might mean. After all, she was a woman! "Oh, do tell me," she
cried, clasping her hands in suspense once more; "what have you
heard about Mr. Kelmscott? I'm not engaged to him; I don't want to
know for that, but--" she broke down, blushing crimson, and Montague
Nevitt, gazing fixedly at her delicate peach-like cheek, remarked
to himself how extremely well that blush became her.
"No, but remember," he said in a very grave voice, in his favourite
impersonation of the man of honour, "whatever I tell you--if I give
way at all and tell you anything--you must hear in confidence, and
must repeat to nobody. If you do repeat it, you'll get me into very
serious trouble. And not only so, but as nobody knows it except
myself, you'll as good as proclaim to all the world that you
heard it from ME. If I tell you what I know, will you promise me
this--not to breathe a syllable of what I say to anybody?"
Gwendoline, glancing down, and thoroughly ashamed of herself, yet
answered in a very low and trembling voice, "I'll promise, Mr.
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