She looked up with a slight start as he drew near, and the light of pleasure that came into her eyes was very eloquent. "So you have found me!" she said. "I thought that you might. I looked for you when I came out, but did not see you anywhere."
"I had gone into Scarborough," he answered. "I went to see"—he stopped before saying "Father Byrne," with a sudden thought that it might not be well for her to connect the priest with the information of which he must presently speak—"to see a friend," he continued. "I wanted to borrow a book. What have you there?"
She held it out, smiling. "Helen gave it to me long ago," she said, "but I never looked at it until to-day."
Earle found that it was a translation of the admirable French "Catechism of Perseverance," which is one of the best compendiums of Catholic doctrine. "After all," he said, "I do not know that I can do better than this, although I was thinking of a book of another kind for you,—a book that would rouse your interest as well as instruct you."
"I think I should prefer your choice," she said. "Helen had the best intentions, but she forgot that what suited her would not be likely to suit me."
This repetition of Helen's name brought his attention back from the book to the subject it had replaced in his mind. "Helen!" he repeated. "You mean your cousin, Miss Morley?"
"Yes. You have heard me speak of her. She is a Catholic. It was with her that I came to Scarborough."
"And why has she gone away and left you?"
Something in the tone rather than in the words caused Marion to color with a quick sense of apprehension. "My aunt took her away for change of air and scene. They are wealthy, and can go where they like. I could not go with them, and so Mrs. Singleton kindly asked me to stay with her. That is very simple, is it not?"
"Very," he answered. He looked down, and turned absently the leaves of the Catechism. "But, since you were your cousin's guest, it seems to me it would have been simpler if she had asked you to go with her."