“No—o. But I have sometimes made ugly guesses.”
“They were right; they were true. He is the brother of Nellie Mitchell.”
She communicated this intelligence in the lowest of whispers, and he received it without a perceptible movement. She did not know what to do next—whether she should attempt to comfort and reassure him, or whether she should quietly slip away while he was apparently absorbed in his own thoughts and unconscious of her presence. She decided on a middle course.
“Good-bye, Mr. Brander,” she said, in a gentle and timid voice. He started, and as he turned towards her, she noted narrowly the expression of his face. Whether the waning daylight had now grown too faint for her to see properly, she could not be sure; but it seemed to her that there was more relief than alarm in his eyes, which were glowing with keen excitement.
“When did you find this out?” he asked, very quietly.
“This afternoon, on my way to St. Cuthbert’s,” she answered, promptly.
“On your way to St. Cuthbert’s,” he echoed, very softly. Olivia blushed and bit her lip, but she answered readily enough, holding up her head with some dignity—
“You had been insulted by my people. I came to apologize for them. That was only natural, as you were my friend.”
Mr. Brander smiled. He seemed already to have quite recovered from any shock her alarming information might have been supposed to cause him.
“That was generous of you—and like you,” he said. “But it was very unwise. Do you want to set all the old women’s tongues wagging?”