"Could? Change that word to do. Say you do trust me."
His voice trembled with emotion, and Griselda's eyes fell beneath his ardent admiring gaze. The story of his love was written on his face, and Griselda Mainwaring could not choose but read it. The compact between them might have been sealed then, had not a quiet, gentle voice near pronounced Mr. Travers' name.
"Leslie, my dear son!"
Griselda turned her face, flushed with crimson, towards Leslie's mother. He hastened to relieve Griselda's evident embarrassment by saying:
"May I have the honour of presenting you to my mother, Miss Mainwaring? I have promised to meet my guide to the house we were speaking of. I will return hither, mother; meantime, may I hope you and Miss Mainwaring will have some conversation which will be agreeable to both?"
"I will await your return, Leslie. But do not exceed half an hour, for the dark streets are not pleasant, especially for old folk like me, who have to pick my way carefully. Have you been long a visitor to Bath, madam?" Mrs. Travers said, as she seated herself with Griselda on one of the benches.
"We arrived in November, madam."
"Have you a mother and sister?"
"No, no!" Griselda said passionately. "I am alone in the world—an orphan."
"Ah, may the God of the fatherless be your Friend. You will make Him your Friend, my dear? This is a place fraught with danger. I feel it for my son—and how much more is it full of danger for you?"