"Why, by telling the truth; and that's what we ought to do, though it was wrong of him to expose us to it."
"To be sure it was," Polly assented.
"But," urged Dorothea, "couldn't we tell the truth of what happened without anyone's wanting to know more? He gave you a note, which you took without guessing what it contained. He wished to have speech with me. Before you could give me the note and I could refuse to see him— as I should certainly have done—he had arrived. His folly deserves punishment, but no such punishment as being sent to Dartmoor."
Polly eyed her ex-mistress shrewdly.
"Have you burnt the note?" she asked.
Dorothea, blushing to the roots of her hair, stammered:
"No; I kept it—it was evidence for him, you see. I wish, now—"
She broke off as Polly nodded her head.
"I guessed you'd have kept it. And now you'll never make up your mind to burn it. You're too honest."
"But, surely the note itself would not be called for?"