"They were in a green box," said Margery, artlessly.
"What did they consist of?" asked Brendon.
"You need not answer that question, Margery," said Miss Bull, quickly, and from that moment, Margery preserved a lumpish silence. George rose in despair.
"You will not help me," he said, taking up his hat.
"So far as I can see there is no reason why we should help you," was Miss Bull's reply, and she rose in her turn.
Brendon saw nothing for it but to go, yet he hesitated to abandon the chance of learning something from Miss Bull. He stared at her pinched, white face and wondered if it would be any good appealing to that love of romance which is inherent in the heart of every woman. Old and withered as Miss Bull was, she might soften under the influence of a love-tale. Brendon disliked telling his business to strangers, especially anything regarding Dorothy, whom he looked upon as a sacred vestal not to be lightly mentioned. However, so much was at stake that he determined to speak openly, on the bare chance of Miss Bull yielding. But he could not speak in the presence of the girl Margery. She was such a sullen animal that to mention his love in her presence would be like casting pearls before swine. He therefore turned to Miss Bull, who stood with folded hands, eyeing him frigidly. "If I could see you alone," said Brendon.
Miss Bull cast a shrewd glance at him, rapidly made up her mind and told Margery to go. The girl looked at him tigerishly, as she was evidently jealous, and sulkily withdrew. When the door was closed Brendon resumed his seat, but Miss Bull remained standing. This was not a good sign; but George was now committed to a certain course and had to follow it.
"Miss Bull," he said deliberately, "what I am about to tell you, being my own private business, I must ask you to keep to yourself."
"I don't want to hear it," said Miss Bull. "I never care for other people's secrets."
"This is not a secret, Miss Bull. It is merely that I am engaged to be married."