“I can’t bear to think of your having to put up with the companionship and protection of those people! I shall find out your guardian—you must have some guardian, and get him to send you back to the convent, at least for a little while, since that seems to be your ideal of happiness.”
“My ideal of happiness!” echoed Freda wonderingly.
“Yes, you said so the other day at the ‘Barley Mow.’ ”
“Did I!” said the girl, blushing.
“Yes, you did. Now, I suppose, it is something else.”
She hung her head.
“Some young fellow has been talking to you!”
Freda gave him a glance of terror. How horribly shrewd he was, to touch at once upon a kind of secret she hardly knew herself yet! She would admit nothing, yet she was afraid to be silent. He might blunder upon some other sensitive truth if she did not speak. So she evaded the point.
“You seem here in England,” she began proudly, “to think that there is only one subject which can interest a girl!”
“Quite true. Everywhere else it is the same. There is only one. I don’t want to force your confidence, but I know that you stayed at Oldcastle Farm on the night of the journey.”