“Well, first we want you to tell us what you thought of the—the lady who came to see you. Did you think”—and Pamela put her lips close to Audrey’s ear—“she was really our mother?”
Audrey’s fingers quivered in those of the two girls.
They must know the truth sooner or later, even if, as she began to suspect, they had not some notion of it already.
“What did Miss Willett think?” she asked evasively.
Pamela whispered again:—
“She thinks she is. But oh, Madame, she—she told us—that if what the lady says is true—then—then papa has not treated her well!”
Audrey gave a sigh of relief. Gently as the words were put, there was a suggestion in Pamela’s intelligent eyes that she knew or guessed more than she liked to say. Audrey took the girl’s hand and pressed it to her breast, and said in a low voice:—
“My dear, I’m afraid—very much afraid, you may find that’s true.”
Then Pamela said:—
“It’s awkward for us, isn’t it? Papa has been kind to us, but—we want to see our mother. And—neither Miss Willett nor we like Miss Candover. Now what are we to do? What can you do to help us? Do you think papa would listen to you?”