“She—they can’t hear,” said Odd, in a still lower voice.
“No, I was not there,” Hilda repeated.
“And your father, your mother, Katherine, think you are there when you are not. Is that wise? Don’t be angry with me, my dear Hilda. You may have confidence in me. Tell me, do you work somewhere else?”
“No. I am not angry. You startled me.” Her look was indeed shaken, but sweet, touched even. “Yes, I work somewhere else.”
“And you keep it a secret?”
She nodded.
“Is it safe to keep secrets from your father and mother? Or is it a secret kept for their sakes, Hilda?” Peter had made mental combinations, yet he suspected that in this one he was shooting rather far from the mark. No matter. Hilda looked away, and seemed revolving some inner doubt. Her hesitation surprised him; he was more surprised when, half unwillingly, she whispered, “Yes,” still not looking at him.
“For their sakes,” repeated Odd, his curiosity redoubled. “Come, Hilda, please tell me all about it. For their sakes?”
“In one way.” Hilda spoke with the same air of half-unwilling confidence. But that she should confide, that she should not lock herself in stubborn silence, was much.
“And as you need not keep it for my sake, you may tell me,” he urged; “I may be able to help you.”