CONFIDENCE
"Yes, I believe I told you," Bernard answered, musing a little too.
"You are not attending to what I say."
"No, I am thinking of something else—I am thinking of what it was that made you refuse him that way, at the last, after you had let your mother hope." And Bernard stood there, smiling at her.
"Don't think any more; you will not find out," the girl declared, turning away.
"Ah, it was cruel of you to let me think I was wrong all these years," he went on; "and, at the time, since you meant to refuse him, you might have been more frank with me."
"I thought my fault had been that I was too frank."
"I was densely stupid, and you might have made me understand better."
"Ah," said Angela, "you ask a great deal of a girl!"
"Why have you let me go on so long believing that my deluded words had had an effect upon Gordon—feeling that I had done you a brutal wrong? It was real to me, the wrong—and I have told you of the pangs and the shame which, for so many months, it has cost me! Why have you never undeceived me until to-day, and then only by accident?"
At this question Angela blushed a little; then she answered, smiling, "It was my vengeance!"
Bernard shook his head.
"That won't do—you don't mean it. You never cared—you were too proud to care; and when I spoke to you about my fault, you didn't even know what I meant. You might have told me, therefore, that my remorse was idle, that what I said to Gordon had not been of the smallest consequence, and that the rupture had come from yourself."
For some time Angela said nothing; then at last she gave him one of the deeply serious looks with which her face was occasionally ornamented.
225
