"Tell me, Miss Carvel, do you know anything of the reason why Madame Patoff became insane? If you do know, you must not tell me what it was, because your father does not wish me to hear it. But I should like to be sure whether you know all about it or not; whether you and I judge her from the same point of view, or whether you are better instructed than I am."
"I know nothing about it," said Hermione, quietly.
She sat gazing into the great fire, one small hand supporting her chin, and the other resting upon the sharp white head of Fang, who never moved from her knee. There was a pause, during which we were both wondering what strange circumstance could have brought the unhappy woman to her present condition, whether it were that of real or of assumed insanity.
"I do not know," she repeated, at last. "I wish I did; but I suppose it was something too dreadful to be told. There are such dreadful things in the world, you know."
"Yes, I know there are," I answered, gravely; and in truth I was persuaded that the prime cause must have been extraordinary indeed, since even John Carvel had said that he could not tell me.
"There are such dreadful things," Hermione said again. "Just think how horrible it would be if"—— She stopped short, and blushed crimson in the ruddy firelight.
"What?" I asked. But she did not answer, and I saw that the idea had pained her, whatever it might be. Presently she turned the phrase so as to make it appear natural enough.
"What a horrible thing it would be if we found that poor aunt Annie only let us believe she was mad, because she had done something she was sorry for, and would not own it!"
"Dreadful indeed," I replied. Hermione rose from her deep chair.
"Good-night, Mr. Griggs," she said. "I hope we may all understand everything some day."