'To thine own self be true, And it shall follow, as the day the night, Thou canst not then be false to any man.'"
As she spoke a servant brought a note to her, and I noticed her cheeks grow pale as she saw the handwriting upon it. She broke it open, and read it hastily, an oddly troubled, worried look coming over her face, a look that Earlscourt could not help but notice as he stood beside her.
"Is there anything in that letter to annoy you, Beatrice?" he asked, very naturally.
She started--rather guiltily, I thought--and crushed the note in her hand.
"Whom is it from? It troubles you, I think. Tell me, my darling, is it anything that vexes or offends you?" he whispered, bending down to her.
She laughed, a little nervously for her, and tore the note into tiny pieces.
"Why do you not tell me, Beatrice?" he said again, with a shade of annoyance on his face.
"Because I would rather not," she said, frankly enough, letting the pieces float out of the window into the street below. The shadow grew darker in his face; he bent his head in acquiescence, and said no more, but I don't think he forgot either the note or her destroyal of it.
"I thought there was implicit confidence _before_ marriage whatever there is after," sneered his sister, as she passed him. He answered her calmly:--
"I should say, Helena, that neither before nor after marriage would any man who respected his wife suffer curiosity or suspicion to enter into him. If he do, he has no right to expect happiness, and he will certainly not go the way to get it."
That was the only reply he gave Lady Clive, but her thorn No. 2 festered in him, and when he bade Beatrice good night, standing alone with her in the little drawing room, he took both her hands in his, and looked straight into her eyes.
"Beatrice, why would you not let me see that note this evening?"
She looked up at him as fearlessly and clearly.
"If I tell you why, I must tell you whom the note was from, and what it was about, and I would much rather do neither as yet."
"That is very strange. I dislike concealment of all kinds, especially from you, who so soon will be my wife. It is inconceivable to me why you should need or desire any. I thought your life was a fair open book, every line of which I might read if I desired."