Ordinarily
glib of speech, for some reason in the face of this newfound emotionless
characterisation, he had nothing to say. It is difficult to appear what
one is not in the blaze of one's own fireside. It was impossible under
the scrutiny of this wide-eyed girl, with the recollection of events
gone by.
"All right, Bess," he admitted at last, with an effort, "we've got other
things more interesting than myself to discuss anyway." He looked at her
openly, significantly. "Your own self, for instance."
"Yes?"
"I'm listening. Tell me everything."
"You really fancy I will after--the past?"
"Yes."
"And why, please?"
"You've already told me why."
"That's right," meditatively. "I'd forgotten. We were going to be
ourselves, our natural worst selves, to-day."
"I'm still listening."
"You're patient. What do you most wish to know?"
"Most? The thing most essential, of course. Do you love your husband?
You're unhappy, I know. Is that the reason?"
The girl looked out, out over the prairies, meditatively, impassively.
Far in the distance, indistinguishable to an untrained eye, a black dot
stood out above the horizon line. Her eyes paused upon it.
"You'll never tell anyone if I answer?" she asked suddenly.
"Never, Bess."
"You swear it?"
"I swear."
Just perceptibly the girl's lips twitched.
"Thanks. I merely wished to find out if you would still perjure
yourself.
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