“We called yesterday afternoon, and the clerk informed us that you had gone out with a young man. I really don’t think Denis would—”
That was too much!
“Upon my word!” cried Emily. “Didn’t you know—”
“I say!” interrupted Cecil, in haste. “Not our affair, is it? I mean—hardly the thing, is it, to bother Emily like this? I mean to say—”
His pleasant, well bred voice trailed off into silence, and Emily, after one amazed glance at his face, was silent too.
So he hadn’t told them, and his eyes implored her not to tell! She sat very still. All the heat of anger had died in her, leaving only bitterness and scorn. She could not endure to look at any of them—not at Cecil, with his contemptible faith in her good nature, not at the hostile and suspicious Mrs. Lanier, not at the utterly indifferent Cynthia.
“I strongly advise you to come to us,” said Mrs. Lanier.
“No,” replied Emily quietly. “I’m going to stay here.”
Mrs. Lanier rose.
“Then I shall feel it my duty to write to Denis,” she said, “and explain this unfortunate situation to him. I wish him to know that I have done my best.”