‘I must not see. Do not talk of it, or we must not be together; and indeed it is very precious to me.’ She rested her head on Phœbe’s shoulder, and put an arm round her waist. ‘Only one thing I must ask,’ she said, presently; ‘is he well?’
‘Quite well,’ said Phœbe. ‘He has been getting better ever since we left home. Then you did not know he was with us?’
‘No. It is not right for me to dwell on those things, and they never mention any of you to me.’
‘But you will write to us now? You will not desert Bertha? You do not know how much you are doing for her.’
‘Dear child! She is so like what he was when first he came.’
‘If you could guess what she has suffered, and how fond he is of her, you would not turn away from her. You will let her be your friend?’
‘If it be right,’ said Cecily, with tearful eyes, but her mouth set into a steadfast expression, as resolute as sweetly sad.
‘You know better what is right than I do,’ said Phœbe; ‘I who feel for him and Bertha. But if you have not heard from him for so long, I think there are things you ought to know.’
‘At home, at home,’ said Cecily; ‘there it may be right to listen. Here I am trusted alone, and I have only to keep my promise. Tell me when I am at home, and it will make me happy. Though, nonsense! my wizened old face is enough to cure him,’ and she tried to laugh. Phœbe regretted what she had said of Bertha’s impression, and believed that the gentle, worn face ought to be far more touching than the most radiant charms, but when she strove to say that it was not beauty that Mervyn loved, she was hushed at once, and by the same mild authority turned out of the room.
Well for her that she could tell her story to Miss Charlecote