Pamela, who had been growing pale, grew paler.
“Father had trouble with him over a mortgage.”
“Oh, tush with your mortgage! That’s only a bit of trumpery. It wasn’t the mortgage. You know something of Sir Jasper.”
The milliner hesitated: then she tossed her head.
“And if I do, my Lady? There! There ain’t anything for you to suspect me about, I do assure you.”
“Oh, I don’t suspect you!” cried Selina wildly. “I see you hate him! I hate him myself! I haven’t anyone to help me. What do you know of him?”
“Nothing that would count as against a gentleman’s honour,” said Pamela bitterly, recalling, with an inward shudder, the vile trick that had been played upon her, and the narrowness of her escape.
Selina caught the working-woman’s two capable hands.
“I won’t get you into a scandal! I know you’ve got your bread to earn. I’ll never mention your name or let anyone guess! I promise! I promise! Look here, I’ll put it differently: if you were me, would you marry Sir Jasper Standish?”
Pamela drew a long breath and the truth leaped.