Harriet did not reply at once. But at last she said, "Yes, I have always wanted you to think so."
He looked at her white face, and suddenly checked the words that rose to his tongue. Whatever those may have been, there was an immense solicitude in his manner when he spoke again. "It is not for me," he said, "to question anything you may have said, or anything you may have done."
"I did everything I could to carry out your wishes." Her voice trembled painfully. "And I—I"
"And you didn't like to tell me," he said gently.
"Yes. I couldn't bear to tell you that she had insisted on choosing the life of all others you would have the least desired for her."
"Don't think that I complain," he said. "I know you must have had a good reason. You have always been very considerate. But it looks as if the stars in their courses have managed to play a scurvy trick."
"That they have!" Once more the swift color flowed over a fine face.
Suddenly she pressed her fingers to her eyelids to repress the quick tears.
"Never mind," he said. "The gods have been a little too much for us, but things might have been worse."
Tearfully she agreed.
"The other day when I talked with that excellent fellow, your brother-in-law, it didn't occur to me who this girl really was. I don't think I was ever told that she had been adopted by your family."
"No," said Harriet, very simply.
"Do your friends know the truth of the matter?"
