"But you should have done so--It would mean nothing to me, and everything to you--to that poor girl--poor Nance--always so helpless and wondering and so pathetically ready to _believe_! She didn't deserve that you take it upon yourself, Allan!" "No--no, don't urge! I may have made mistakes, though I will say that few men of my--well, my attractions! Why not say it bluntly?--few men of my attractions, placed as I have been, would have made so few--but I shall never be found shirking their consequences--it is not in my nature, thank God, to let another bear the burden--I can always be a man!--" "But, old boy--you must think of poor Nancy--not of me!" Again he felt the hurt of her suspicion. "True--compassion requires that I think of her rather than of my own pride--and I have--but, you see, it's too late. I committed myself before I knew she didn't _know_!" "Let her believe it is still a mistake--" "No, no--it would be trickery--and it's impracticable--I as good as confessed to her, you see--unless"--he brightened here and stopped in his walk--"unless she could be made to believe that I meant to shield you!" "That's it! Really, you are an executor, Allan! Now we'll put the poor girl easy in her mind again. I'll tell her you did it to shield me. You know it's important--what Nancy thinks of you, old chap--she's your wife--and--it doesn't matter a bit how meanly--she thinks of me--of course not. I dare say it will be better for me if she _does_ think meanly of me--I'll tell her at once--what was it I did?" "No--no--she wouldn't believe you now. I dislike to say this, Bernal, but Nancy is not always so trusting as a good woman should be--she has a habit of wondering--but--mind you, I could only consent to this for the sake of her peace of mind--" "I understand perfectly, old chap--it will help the peace of mind of all of us, I begin to see--hers and mine--and yours." "Well, then, if she can be made to suspect this other aspect of the affair without being told directly--ah!--here's a way. Turn that messenger-call. Now listen--I will have a note sent here addressed to you by a certain woman. It will be handed to Nancy to give to you. She will observe the writing--and she will recognise it,--she knows it. You will have been anxious about this note--expecting it--inquiring for it, you know. Get your dinner now, then stay in your room so the maid won't see you when the note comes--she will have to ask Nance where you are--" At dinner, which Bernal had presently with Aunt Bell and two empty seats, his companion regaled him with comments upon the development of the religious instinct in mankind, reminding him that should he ever aspire to a cult of his own he would find Boston a more fertile field than New York.