"I don't see, for my part, what you've got to make a fuss about," remarked Mrs. Cragg uncomfortably. "I don't see that you need bother. It isn't more than you knew before."
"It is—much more!"
"Anyhow, I won't tell. There's no need that I should. If you like to burn those letters, nobody will hear a word."
"Ah!" and Pattie drew a long breath. "Yes —to-day you feel like that. But—another day—"
Pattie's tone was sorrowfully distrustful.
"But I promise I won't say anything. If I promise—"
Mrs. Cragg stopped. She knew suddenly that her promise had no weight, could have no weight, in Pattie's eyes. She had shown herself to be deceitful. Pattie could feel no confidence in what she might say. This fact struck home. Mrs. Cragg was unpleasantly conscious of distrust in Pattie's face. Her tone changed.
"You'll go next and tell Mr. Cragg, of course."
"No. Not what you have done. That is for you to tell him—not me. I shall tell him what I have learnt about my father, and nothing more. I shall tell him that I have read three letters, and that all the rest are burnt."
"He'll want to know why you didn't burn those three, too."