shadows, dangling before the eye of her mind in gigantic and
minatory capitals:

WOULD HE TELL?

To this stark inquiry all the girl's problem came down. Gone like a
fever-mist was the emotional flare-up (as mamma would have said) which
had tricked her into blurting out a secret scarcely even formulated
before in her own inmost soul. That mysterious moment remained merely as
an astonishment. It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to
her; she had simply been swept away by some unfathomable madness. And at
present Nature's first law was working in her with obliterating force.
_Would the man tell?_ Here in the sane and ordered surroundings, with
mamma sleeping and satisfied one floor below, and a long, long letter to
be written to her knight among men the first thing to-morrow, there was
nothing in the world that mattered but that. If Vivian would not tell,
then, indeed, all was well with her. If he did tell ...

He had said that he would not tell without first seeing her. But of
course there was nothing under heaven to prevent his seeing her, or
sending word to her, at any time, by day or by night. And then what?

Carlisle lay upon her back, rather small and frightened in the tall bed,
struggling to pluck away the veil from the face of the menacing future.
What would "telling" mean, exactly?...

There was a hopeful view. The whole thing was so confused, just as he
himself had admitted, more than once. It might all be put on the ground
of a mistake, a little misunderstanding, recently discovered. You could
tell, and not go into all the mixed-up details. Jack Dalhousie would