I will say nothing that is wrong, nothing that you or I need be
ashamed of--but, oh, it will ease my heart so to end this
miserable concealment! Only let me know and feel that I have no
deception to answer for on my side, and then, when he has heard
what I have to say, let him act towards me as he will."
She sighed, and put her head back in its old position on my bosom.
Sad misgivings about what the end would be weighed upon my mind,
but still distrusting myself, I told her that I would do as she
wished. She thanked me, and we passed gradually into talking of
other things.
At dinner she joined us again, and was more easy and more herself
with Sir Percival than I have seen her yet. In the evening she
went to the piano, choosing new music of the dexterous, tuneless,
florid kind. The lovely old melodies of Mozart, which poor
Hartright was so fond of, she has never played since he left. The
book is no longer in the music-stand. She took the volume away
herself, so that nobody might find it out and ask her to play from
it.
I had no opportunity of discovering whether her purpose of the
morning had changed or not, until she wished Sir Percival good-
night--and then her own words informed me that it was unaltered.
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