"What was it?" asked Lorimer, remembering Duprèz's recent remarks.
"Oh, I would not tell you!" she said eagerly, drying her eyes and endeavoring to smile, "because I am sure it was a mistake, and all wrong--and I was foolish to fancy that such a thing could be, even for a moment. But when one does not know the world, it seems cruel--"
"Thelma, what do you mean?" and George surveyed her in some perplexity. "If any one's been bothering or vexing you, just you tell Phil all about it. Don't have any secrets from him,--he'll soon put everything straight, whatever it is."
She shook her head slightly. "Ah, you do not understand!" she said pathetically, "how should you? Because you have not given your life away to any one, and it is all different with you. But when you do love--if you are at all like me,--you will be so anxious to always seem worthy of love--and you will hide all your griefs away from your beloved,--so that your constant presence shall not seem tiresome. And I would not for all the world trouble Philip with my silly fancies--because then he might grow more weary still--"
"Weary!" interrupted Lorimer, in an accent of emphatic surprise. "Why, you don't suppose Phil's tired of you, Thelma? That is nonsense indeed! He worships you! Who's been putting such notions into your head?"
She rose from her chair quite calm and very pale, and laid her two trembling hands in his.
"Ah, you also will mistake me," she said, with touching sweetness, "like so many others who think me strange in my speech and manner. I am sorry I am not like other women,--but I cannot help it. What I do wish you to understand is that I never suppose anything against my Philip--he is the noblest and best of men! And you must promise not to tell him that I was so foolish as to cry just now because you played that old song I sang to you both so often in Norway--it was because I felt a little sad--but it was only a fancy,--and I would not have him troubled with such things. Will you promise?"
"But what has made you sad?" persisted Lorimer, still puzzled.
"Nothing--nothing indeed," she answered, with almost feverish earnestness. "You yourself are sometimes sad, and can you tell why?"
Lorimer certainly could have told why,--but he remained silent, and gently kissed the little hands he held.