“Keredec says he is,” I laughed helplessly.
“So does Louise,” returned Miss Elliott, disdaining consistency in her eagerness. “And she’s right—and she cares more for him than she ever did!”
“I suppose she does.”
“Are you—” the girl began, then stopped for a moment, looking at me steadily. “Aren’t you a little in love with her?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly. “Aren’t you?”
“THAT’S what I wanted to know!” she said; and as she turned a page in the sketch-book for the benefit of Mr. Percy, I saw that her hand had begun to tremble.
“Why?” I asked, leaning toward her across the table.
“Because, if she were involved in some undertaking—something that, if it went wrong, would endanger her happiness and, I think, even her life—for it might actually kill her if she failed, and brought on a worse catastrophe—”
“Yes?” I said anxiously, as she paused again.
“You’d help her?” she said.