concerned in producing it. Some reporter in
search of news had evidently been prying about the grounds at Gleninch,
and some busy-body in the neighborhood had in all probability sent the
published paragraph to Eustace. Entirely at a loss what to do, I waited
for my husband to speak. He did not keep me in suspense--he questioned
me instantly.

"Do you understand what it means, Valeria?"

I answered honestly--I owned that I understood what it meant.

He waited again, as if he expected me to say more. I still kept the only
refuge left to me--the refuge of silence.

"Am I to know no more than I know now?" he proceeded, after an interval.
"Are you not bound to tell me what is going on in my own house?"

It is a common remark that people, if they can think at all, think
quickly in emergencies. There was but one way out of the embarrassing
position in which my husband's last words had placed me. My instincts
showed me the way, I suppose. At any rate, I took it.

"You have promised to trust me," I began.

He admitted that he had promised.

"I must ask you, for your own sake, Eustace, to trust me for a little
while longer. I will satisfy you, if you will only give me time."

His face darkened. "How much longer must I wait?" he asked.

I saw that the time had come for trying some stronger form of persuasion
than words.

"Kiss me," I said, "before I tell you!"

He hesitated (so like a husband!). And I persisted (so like a wife!).
There was no choice for him but to yield. Having given me my kiss (not
over-graciously), he insisted once more on knowing how much longer I
wanted him to wait.

"I want you to wait," I answered, "until our child is born."

He started. My condition took him by surprise. I gently pressed his
hand, and gave him a look. He returned the look (warmly enough, this
time, to satisfy me). "Say you consent," I whispered.

He consented.

So I put off the day of reckoning once more. So I gained time to consult
again with Benjamin and Mr. Playmore.

While Eustace remained with me in the room, I was composed, and capable
of talking to him. But when he left me, after a time, to think over what
had passed between us, and to remember how kindly he had given way to
me, my heart turned pityingly to those other wives (better women, some
of them, than I am), whose husbands, under similar circumstances, would
have spoken hard words to them--would perhaps even have acted more
cruelly still. The contrast thu