"I am so glad," she said, "because I did—this very morning. I did so want someone to advise me—to tell me what a girl ought to do, what she would do herself in my place."
"Ah!" said Peter, sympathetically, "it is—er—a difficult position for you, no doubt."
"And for you, too!" she said quickly; "remember that."
"And for me too, of course," said Peter, assenting, as he always did now from habit, to anything he did not understand at the moment. "My position might be described as one of—er—difficulty, certainly. And so you asked advice about yours, eh?"
"I couldn't very well help myself," she said. "There was a girl, a little older than I am, perhaps, sitting next to me on deck, and she mentioned your name, and somehow—I hardly know how it came about—but she seemed so kind, and so interested in it all, that—that I believe I told her everything.... You aren't angry with me, are you, Peter?"
She had been making a confidante of Miss Tyrrell! It was awkward, extremely awkward and annoying, if, as he began to fear, her confidences were of a tender character.
"I—I am not exactly angry," he said; "but I do think you might be more careful whom you speak to. What did you tell her?"
"All!" she said, with the same little quiver in her underlip he had noticed before.