“Mrs. Bean.”
“And took care that I should come to no harm, although she knew all the time that it would be better for those she cared about if I did come to harm.” Freda tried to protest, but he silenced her peremptorily. “And the little girl does care for those who belong to her, no matter how she has been treated by them. But now,” he continued in a different tone, “I want you to forget all that for the present, though I never can. I want you to think of the day when I first met you, a poor, tired, cold, hungry little girl; and to remember how you gave me your confidence, and chattered to me, and told me I was very kind.”
“And so you were,” cried Freda eagerly.
“Ah, but I had a motive: I had fallen in love with you.”
Freda wriggled her arm out of his, and looked up at him in astonishment. Indeed John Thurley’s tone was so robust, matter-of-fact, and dogmatic that this statement was the last she had expected.
“In love with me! Oh!”
And she began to laugh timidly.
“But this is no laughing matter—to me at least,” said John Thurley, in a tone more earnest still, and less matter-of-fact. “I tell you I fell in love with you. I suppose you know what that means?”
“Not very well,” Freda admitted.
This answer seemed rather to take him aback.