"I am sure you will. That is important; yet not the most important. What I want to know is whether you are fully and utterly true in all that you say and do—whether I may depend, not only upon your honesty, for that I do not doubt, but upon your absolute truthfulness and trustworthiness."
"I wouldn't tell a lie for anything," I said.
"I don't think you would. I hope not. Your mother says the same. But I want more than just the absence of direct falsehood. I want to be able to place entire confidence in you. Now how is that to be brought about?"
I understood in a measure, yet I was at a loss what to say.
"I will tell you," he said, and he spoke slowly. "If anything goes wrong—if anything in your charge is injured or broken—mind you never attempt to hide it, but come at once and tell me. Sooner or later you would be found out, and then I could never be sure of you again. Be brave, and speak out always. Never try to shield yourself from just blame. Then again you have to be obedient. When I am absent, just as when I am present, do what I tell you to do. You have leave to come to the museum yourself, but not to admit others without asking me. Remember that! No matter who asks, you have to say 'No'!"
"Yes, sir, I will."
"That is right. Now about the matter of your going home. I do not wish for incessant running to and fro; but you may see your people reasonably often—once a week, at all events. When you wish to go, ask me, and if possible I will arrange it. If I send you out on an errand for myself, don't spend the time in going to your parents, but be back as sharp as you can. If I send you out for an hour or two to amuse yourself, then you may do as you choose. But do not go out without asking my leave."
"No, sir, I won't," I said.
"One more thing, Miles. When you are in my study, among my books and papers, remember that I am trusting you. Nothing is to be read, except what you know that I intend you to read. And what you do see, or read, or hear, is not to be talked about elsewhere—either among my servants or out of this house. Do you understand me? Can I put confidence in you?"
A rush of pride swept through me, as I thought that he should do so— that I would make myself worthy of his confidence. It was my first real glimpse of what is meant by "honour." He was "putting me on my honour," and he should not be disappointed.