"The man--gentleman, or whatever he is--who had you called down to him in
the library."
"By the way, Maude--yes--you should not dart in when I am engaged with
visitors on business."
"Well, I thought it was Mr. Carr," she replied, glancing at his
heightened colour. "What did he want?"
"Only to say a word to me on a matter of business."
"It was the same person who upset you so when he called last autumn. You
have never been the same man since."
"Don't take fancies into your head, Maude."
"Fancies! you know quite well there is no fancy about it. That man holds
some unpleasant secret of yours, I am certain."
"Maude!"
"Will you tell it me?"
"I have nothing to tell."
"Ah, well; I expected you wouldn't speak," she answered, with subdued
bitterness; as much as to say, that she made a merit of resigning herself
to an injustice she could not help. "You have been keeping things from me
a long time."
"I have kept nothing from you it would give you pleasure to know. It is
not--Maude, pray hear me--it is not always expedient for a man to make
known to his wife the jars and rubs he has himself to encounter. A
hundred trifles may arise that are best spared to her. That gentleman's
business concerned others as well as myself, and I am not at liberty to
speak of it."
"You refuse, then, to admit me to your confidence?"
"In this I do.
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