yet you say nice things, as if you meant them. Don’t be mysterious, sir. What harm do you know of Mr. Lightwood?”
“None, my love.”
“What has he ever done to you, John?”
“He has never done anything to me, my dear. I know no more against him than I know against Mr. Wrayburn; he has never done anything to me; neither has Mr. Wrayburn. And yet I have exactly the same objection to both of them.”
“Oh, John!” retorted Bella, as if she were giving him up for a bad job, as she used to give up herself. “You are nothing better than a sphinx! And a married sphinx isn’t a—isn’t a nice confidential husband,” said Bella, in a tone of injury.
“Bella, my life,” said John Rokesmith, touching her cheek, with a grave smile, as she cast down her eyes and pouted again; “look at me. I want to speak to you.”
“In earnest, Blue Beard of the secret chamber?” asked Bella, clearing her pretty face.
“In earnest. And I confess to the secret chamber. Don’t you remember that you asked me not to declare what I thought of your higher qualities until you had been tried?”
“Yes, John dear. And I fully meant it, and I fully mean it.”
“The time will come, my darling—I am no prophet, but I say so—when you will be tried. The time will come, I think, when you will undergo a trial through which you will never pass quite triumphantly for me, unless you can put perfect faith in me.”