"Yes, such a result as that would be indeed a sore calamity. I have every
wish to set your mind at ease, believe me, Mrs. Branston, but in John
Saltram's present state I am sure it would be ill-advised for you to see
him."
"Of course I cannot press the question if you say that," Adela answered
despondently; "but I should have been so glad if you could have allowed
me to see him. Not that I pretend to the smallest right to do so; but we
were very good friends once--before my husband's death. He has changed to
me strangely since that time."
Gilbert felt that it was almost cruel to keep this poor little soul in
utter ignorance of the truth. He did not consider himself at liberty to
say much; but some vague word of warning might serve as a slight check
upon the waste of feeling which was going on in the widow's heart.
"There may be a reason for that change, Mrs. Branston," he said. "Mr.
Saltram may have formed some tie of a kind to withdraw him from all other
friendships."
"Some attachment, you mean!" exclaimed the widow; "some other
attachment," she added, forgetting how much the words betrayed. "Do you
think that, Mr. Fenton? Do you think that John Saltram has some secret
love-affair upon his mind?"
"I have some reason to suspect as much, from words that he has dropped
during his delirium.
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