‘I don’t pretend to like the concealment,’ said Tarrant. ‘For one thing, there’s a suggestion of dishonour about it. We’ve gone over all that--’ ‘Oh, I don’t mean that for a moment. It isn’t really dishonourable. My father could never have objected to _you_ for my husband. He only wanted to guard me--Mary says so, and he told her everything. He thought me a silly, flighty girl, and was afraid I should be trapped for the sake of my money. I wish--oh how I wish I had had the courage to tell him! He would have seen you, and liked and trusted you--how could he help?’ ‘It might have been better--but who knows whether he would have seen me with your eyes, Nancy?’ ‘Yes, yes. But I was going to say----’ She hesitated. ‘Say on.’ ‘There are so many difficulties before us, dear.’ ‘Not if we continue to think of each other as we do now. Do you mean it might be discovered?’ ‘Yes, through no fault of ours.’ She hesitated again. ‘Quite sure you haven’t told anybody?’ ‘No one.’ Tarrant had a doubt on this point. He strongly suspected that Jessica Morgan knew the truth, but he shrank from pressing Nancy to an avowal of repeated falsehood. ‘Then it’s very unlikely we should be found out. Who would dream of tracking you here, for instance? And suppose we were seen together in the street or in the country, who would suspect anything more than love-making? and that is not forbidden you.’ ‘No. But--’ ‘But?’ ‘But suppose I--’ She rose, crossed to him, seated herself on his knee and put an arm about his neck. Before she had spoken another word, Tarrant understood; the smile on his face lost its spontaneity; a bitter taste seemed to distort his lips. ‘You think--you are afraid--’