"Don't, please. You know it's not a real engagement, till my father consents." In her heart she said "mother."
"Nothing in life was ever more real to me."
"But tell me more. I want to know how it happened."
"I'll read you Winnie's letter"—and a masculine rumble followed.
First came the description of Phil Morris's sudden appearance, of the farmer's excited announcement, of Mrs. Morris's cold disavowal; well and graphically told, for Winnie was a clever girl, with natural ease of expression, and far better educated than her mother and sister. Then followed the coming of the Squire, Mrs. Morris's explanations, and the farmer's distress.
"And," the writer continued, "I felt I must let you know it all. Mother is sure not to, and Jane says she doesn't mean to meddle and get her fingers burnt."
(Mrs. Brutt nodded a sagacious head at the word "Jane," which clenched the truth of her surmises.)
"I always tell you everything, and mother hasn't said that I must not now. It all seems so strange, Raye. So very, very strange! To know nothing about our father, except just his name,—and not even his Christian name! I asked mother what that was, and she told me I needn't chatter."
"Uncle looks so unhappy; just as he did when we first came. Almost more, I think; for he is so good and true, and he hates deceit. He doesn't know what to think of it all. Jane seems not to care. She is full of her own affairs. But uncle and I care."
"Mr. Stirling looked so stern to-day. It frightened me to see how very stern he can be. I am sure he felt, as uncle does, how mother has deceived us all. He wouldn't say much before others, but he asked to see her alone; and then, I suppose, he told her what he really thought."