“Not a word. Monsieur Bayre and his cousin behaved as if she had never existed. At least, as far as we servants knew. They quarrelled more than ever, perhaps, and we saw less of him than we had done before. And when his cousin died in an apopletic fit—during a quarrel one night, I believe—he shut himself up altogether for a time. He was broken, aged; we were sorry for him.”
Miss Eden turned to Bayre again.
“That will do, Nini,” she said.
And the girl dropped them a rustic curtsey and returned to her work in the wash-house.
“She hasn’t told much that I didn’t know before,” said Bayre, drily.
He was offended by the bland impudence with which she denied her own action in regard to the child in the basket, and was inclined to resent the mystification in which he felt sure that Miss Eden had her share.
“Well, no doubt she’s told you all she could.”
“I don’t think so. However, we need not discuss that.” And he prepared to go. “At any rate, I’m thankful to have found you alive and well, Miss Eden.”
“Thank you. You are going?”
“Yes.”