Kate hung her head in silence, while her heart felt as if it would burst from very agony.
“This is no idle curiosity of mine, Miss Dalton,” said he, speaking with a slow and measured utterance. “The society you have mixed with here is not above any reproach nor beneath any suspicion. I insist upon knowing where you have been, and with whom? So, then, you refuse to speak, you will not tell. If it be Lady Hester's secret—”
“No, no! The secret is mine, and mine only. I swear to you, by all we both believe in, that it has no concern with any one save myself.”
“And can you not confide it to me? Have I no right to ask for the confidence, Kate?” said he, with tenderness.
“Know you any one more deeply and sincerely your friend than I am, more ready to aid, protect, or counsel you?”
“But this I cannot—must not tell you,” said she, in accents broken by sobbing.
“Let me know, at least, enough to refute the insolence of an imputation upon your conduct. I cannot tamely sit by and hear the slanderous stories that to-morrow or next day will gain currency through the town.”
“I cannot, I cannot,” was all that she could utter.