She was silent for several moments.
"Well," she said, "even if it were so, he could be very kind to me, couldn't he, even if he was in Brazil and I was in Paris? You see, my father was the poor one of the family, who died without any money at all, yet I have always had everything in the world I want, and when I come of age they are going to give me a great sum of money. It is not that I think about," she went on, "but they write to me always, and they treat me as though I were their own daughter. Often they have said how they would love to have had me out in Brazil. I think that it is really their own kindness that they let me stay in Paris."
"Felicia," I said, "tell me really how much you do know of your uncle—the one who is with you now?"
She shook her head.
"No!" she said. "I cannot do that. I made a promise and I must keep it. But I will promise you this, if you like. If I find that it is not the truth which I have been told I will come to you if you want me."
I held her hands tightly in mine.
"You are beginning to have doubts, are you not?" I asked.
"Oh, I don't know!" she answered. "I don't know! There are times when I am frightened. Austen, I must go now."
I looked at the clock. It was almost two o'clock.
"We couldn't have lunch together, I suppose?" I asked.